Fractured
by just slummin
Summary: Co-written with Midnight Obsidian. Takes place several months after the events of “Stormfront” in the Mal/River storyline. Serenity’s crew discovers that, despite the fall of the Alliance, there are still some dangers to contend with in the 'verse.
1. Chapter 1

**Fractured**

**Prologue**

Author: just_slummin and Midnight Obsidian

Disclaimer: Don't own 'em. Just playin' in Joss' sandbox….again.

Rating: PG

Note: Takes place several months after the events of "Stormfront" in the Mal/River storyline. (And yes, it's true. The siren song of Serenity could not be resisted for one moment longer. Mal started whispering in my head again, and then Midnight Obsidian whispered in my ear, and then….well, this is what happened.)

Summary: Serenity's crew discovers that, despite the fall of the Alliance, there are still some dangers to contend with in the big, wide 'verse.

XXXXXXXXXX

On the last day of the First War for Independence……..

He sat cross-legged on the small rug, busily engaged in playing Allies and Indies with his small stash of toy soldiers. It was fun, he thought, especially the part where he made the sounds of ships exploding in the spectacular way that only six-year-old boys can make such sounds.

He could hear, as if from some great distance, his mother muttering low and dark in another room and he wondered if perhaps he should go check on her. But he really did not want to, as the game would be woefully interrupted if she found out about it. Most of his games were brought to a halt by her arrival at any given moment and, over the short span of his life, he had come to be greatly annoyed by that fact. However, like very small children do, he loved his mother, despite her increasingly obvious shortcomings. And above all, he wanted to please her. Perhaps if he just played for a few minutes more, nothing bad would happen, he reasoned.

A loud scream interrupted his musings and he jumped to his feet, racing toward his mother's room. Little legs pumping like mad in rhythm with his heart, he ran down the narrow hall and swung the door of his mother's room open wide.

He stopped suddenly, frozen by the tableau in front of him. His mother was huddled on her knees in the middle of the floor, her hair falling wildly about her face and her eyes feverish in the way that always made him nervous. "Mama?" he asked, his voice hesitant in the sudden stillness.

She turned her head more directly toward him and squinted as if he were difficult to see.

A low moan escaped her lips, and she began to rock back and forth on her knees, her thin body shaking with some terrible emotion he could not fathom.

"Mama?" he said again, daring now to take a step into the room toward her.

"Be still," she hissed, her eyes focusing on him with abrupt venom. "Be still, you wicked, wicked boy." As if pulled upward by her concentration on the hapless child, she stood on suddenly steadier legs. "What were you doing in there?" she asked, an unspoken accusation in her voice.

He swallowed nervously and shifted on his little feet. "Nothing, Mama," he answered as innocently as he could manage.

"Nothing?" she hissed, advancing toward him with no small amount of malice.

"Just p..p..playing," he admitted. A small tremor of fear made him stumble over the word.

"Playing," she spat out, towering over him. "Playing, at such a time as this. God help me, but you are a wicked boy."

His eyes misted with tears, though he did not understand why this time should be any different from any other time he chose to play. Modulating his voice as he had learned to do when he spoke to her in this mood, he said, "What's the matter, Mama? Has something happened?"

For a terrifying moment, he watched her face, unsure of her reaction to his question. She shook violently and then, to his relief, he saw that the worst of the storm had apparently passed as abruptly as it had begun. Looking down at him, she sighed heavily and rubbed tiredly at the deep lines that ran down the sides of her nose. "Your daddy's dead," she said flatly.

The boy felt the words like a physical blow. Struggling to breathe past the sudden tightness in his chest, he said, "No, Mama, no." He backed away from her, needing to put as much distance as he could between them, praying that her words were just the beginnings of another one of her bad spells.

Her hand shot out, gripping his arm tightly and preventing the escape he so desperately needed. Jerking him toward the Cortex screen in the corner of her room, she spat out, "Look for yourself, if you don't believe me. It replays in a continuous loop."

Reluctantly, he looked at the screen, watching with real dread the words he could not yet read scroll across the picture. He did not need to read to see that what she had said was true. There, in gruesome color, was a battlefield a thousand times worse than the ones he had envisioned in his play. A somber man stood in the foreground, speaking in a hushed tone as a group of men lifted something from the ground and onto a stretcher. The little boy scrubbed his eyes with his fists, hoping with all the optimism of youth that what he was seeing would mercifully disappear before his vision cleared again.

But it was not to be. When his eyes opened again, he saw the same sight before him. His father was being carried off the battlefield. A grubby blanket covered his face, but the boy knew his father's form as well as he knew his own. Tears welled in his eyes as the reporter droned on in somber tones about the loss of thousands of the Alliance's finest soldiers in the bloody battle of Serenity Valley. No longer even aware of his mother standing behind him, he studied the faces of the people on the Cortex screen, imprinting the images deeply into his psyche. And a terrible, fierce rage grew in his small heart.

He thought of his father, the bright light in his young life, and how he often dropped by at odd hours, handing Mama a box filled with vials of what she called her 'happy medicine' before dropping to his knees to embrace the boy. He thought about the night Daddy came to visit and pried open the pantry door, releasing him from his mother's discipline with a hard scowl in her direction. He thought about the terrible fight that had ensued, and the way Daddy had held him close and told him that when the war was over, he would take him somewhere where little boys were never locked in pantries for days on end, someplace where he would not have to worry about displeasing Mama. Bitterly, he realized that now his father would not be able to fulfill that promise, nor the myriad others he had whispered into the boy's ears since birth.

Slowly, he became aware of his surroundings again and he saw his mother standing beside him. "See?" she said. "I told you." Staring at the screen, she continued, "Look at them. Look at them close." She jabbed one bony finger at the screen, pointing to a ragtag group of men wearing long brown coats. "That's who killed your daddy. Don't you ever forget who killed your daddy. Dong ma?"

The boy nodded jerkily. "I won't," he whispered. And as he stood there with his mother, soaked in his growing anger, he knew with absolute certainty that he never would forget, and that someday those men on the cortex screen would pay for what they had done.

XXXXXXXXXX

To be continued


	2. Chapter 2

**Fractured**

**Part I**

Authors: just_slummin and Midnight Obsidian

Disclaimer: Don't own 'em. Just playin' in Joss' sandbox.

Rating: PG

Summary: Serenity's crew passes a restless night, and things are less than calm aboard the Hit or Miss as well.

XXXXXXXXXX

Mal awoke with a violent start, sweat pooling uncomfortably in the dip of his spine and heart pounding in what he conjured must be two beats shy of life-threatening. Beside him, River jerked abruptly upright and her arms began flailing about in search of her robe.

"Bao bei, it was nothing but another gorram dream," Mal said, though his throat was almost too tight with residual tension to release with words. "I'm all right."

"Not you," River replied. "It's Ad…"

Before the name was off her lips, Mal heard the horrible screams of his young son. He gritted his teeth as he pulled on a pair of old sleep pants and headed up the ladder of his bunk, cursing the situation that made his reader child tune in so effortlessly to his own nightmares.

As he and River made their way to Adam's room, she turned to look at him sadly. "Not your fault, you know," she murmured. "No way for you to control it."

"I know that," Mal replied grimly. "But the knowin' don't make it one bit easier to watch."

River nodded in sympathy, unable to counter the indisputable fact of the matter at hand. Reaching Adam's door in record time, she opened it quickly and they both slipped inside.

Adam sat in the middle of his bed, sheets around his legs in a tangle and eyes staring into the darkness in wide-eyed terror. "Still sleeping," Mal whispered as he reached to gently touch the boy. "Can hardly imagine how he can sleep and scream so loud at the same time."

Another ear-piecing scream rent the night, and Adam began to flail about in earnest, trying to defend himself from whatever demons plagued this particular nightmare. Mal grasped him firmly, painfully mindful of the line of bruises Adam had acquired in the course of the last week in a similar fashion.

Adam struggled wildly, oblivious to Mal's attempts to calm him. "River," Mal prodded as he motioned her forward. "Can you…?"

River sank to her knees beside Adam's bed, focusing entirely on her son. "Baby mine," she crooned softly. "Just a dream, baby mine."

Mal felt the rigidity in Adam's small body relax slightly as River murmured soothing words of comfort to their son. He knew that the vocal words were bolstered by River's mental connection with Adam, and he was more than grateful that her abilities could be used to at least partially calm the boy. He ruthlessly suppressed the thought that it was those same abilities, inherited by Adam, which contributed to his son's current predicament.

For three weeks now, Adam had regularly awakened everyone aboard Serenity with his screams in the night. At first, no one had felt any major concern, as occasional nightmares were fairly standard for almost all of the crew. And the first time it had happened, Mal himself had been in the midst of a particularly vivid dream of Niska and his room of horrors. Assuming, as had everyone else, that Adam was merely picking up on his own distress, Mal was not overly worried. He hated the thought that Adam had to share even a glimpse of his dreams, but it seemed at first to be just an unfortunate side effect of Adam's burgeoning abilities as a Reader.

But Adam continued to be plagued with what Simon referred to as night terrors, even on nights when no one else was aware of dreaming at all. And the more frequently the sleep disturbances occurred, the more worried everyone became.

Pulling his thoughts back to the present situation, Mal eased his grip on Adam's arms as he felt the tension subside. Adam blinked rapidly several times and Mal could see that the little boy was once again aware of his surroundings. "You okay there, little fella'?" he asked softly.

Drawing a long, shuddering breath, Adam answered, "I'm okay, Daddy."

Mal could hear the small, defeated tone of Adam's reply and held his boy closer to his chest. "It's all gonna be all right, you know," he said, deliberately pushing the sight of the dark circles under Adam's eyes out of his mind.

Adam nodded and closed his eyes, burrowing into his father's warmth as he had done as a much younger child. "Woke everybody up again, didn't I?" he whispered mournfully.

"Maybehaps not everybody," Mal assured him. He paused for a moment. "Wanna talk about it?"

Adam stiffened slightly. "Uh uh."

Mal glanced up at River, who stood staring down at Adam with such sorrow in her eyes that he felt his own eyes mist over. "I got things here, bao bei, if you wanna go check on Hannah," he said gently.

River nodded and leaned down to kiss her son's head. "Good night, baby mine," she murmured into Adam's sandy brown hair.

"Night, Mama," he replied, his speech slightly slurred with exhaustion. "See you in the morning."

River padded silently out of the room and Mal settled back against the wall with Adam in his arms, prepared to spend yet another sleepless night keeping vigil with his troubled boy.

XXXXXXXXXX

River softly eased open the door to Hannah's room, hoping her daughter had miraculously slept through the disturbance. But she saw instantly that her hopes would not be realized. Hannah sat curled into a ball in the middle of her bed, looking for all the 'verse like a smaller version of River with her arms hugging her knees to her chest and rocking back and forth in the universal motion of self-comfort.

"Mama," she breathed out, relief in her tone.

As River approached the bed, Hannah spread her arms wide to embrace her mother. "Adam awwight?"

"Yes baby, he's all right," River lied smoothly. "Just had a bad dream."

Hannah nodded. "Was he scawed?"

"Yes, he was scared," River answered softly. "But Daddy's with him now."

Hannah relaxed. In her 'verse, if Daddy was there, everything was instantly shiny. Too young to be plagued with the fact that her parents did not control the spin of the worlds, she snuggled tightly against River's chest and sighed contentedly. "Sweepy, Mama," she said around a huge yawn.

River smiled, grateful that at least one of her children found peace in sleep. Stroking Hannah's silky brown hair gently, she whispered, "Then close your eyes, little one." Pausing for a moment, she added, "And dream sweet."

XXXXXXXXXX

Pierre, Murdocke and Bear sat in the common area of the Hit or Miss idling their time away with a game of Tall Card. The job had gone well, all things considered, and the three men had a little time on their hands.

"Marcus coming down?" Bear asked, placing his ante in the middle of the table. "Haven't played a hand with him in awhile."

Murdocke snorted. "And not likely to, with the way things are going. Poor hundan's been sidelined by the doc, you ask me."

Pierre tossed his chit into the pot. "Don't recall that anyone did ask you, Murdocke," he replied silkily. "What Marcus and Elizabeth do in their spare time is nobody's business but their own."

No sooner were the words out of his mouth than the three men heard the distinct sound of a very unhappy woman making her way down the corridor outside. Her angry mutterings stopped just short of the door. After a moment, Elizabeth walked in, looking like a woman trying hard to curtail what was bound to be the mother of all fits. "Gentlemen," she said, the word clipped short behind clenched teeth. "I see everyone made it back from the drop in one piece. Everyone, that is, except your Captain. Any idea where he might be?"

Murdocke grinned, unable to resist the temptation to bait the irate woman. "What's the matter, doc?" he asked. "He didn't check in with his Mama when he came home?"

A small vein began to visibly pulse in Elizabeth's temple. "Don't test me, Murdocke," she said, her voice now deceptively calm. "Sooner or later, you'll end up on my table, and when you do…"

"All right," Bear said, ever the peace maker on the crew. "No need for all the fuss." Giving Murdocke a warning look, which Murdocke returned with a hell-bent grin, he smiled at Elizabeth. "Marcus is on the bridge, last I knew. Probably setting a new course for us, looking for another job, you know…work and all."

Elizabeth nodded and spun on her heel to leave. "Thank you, Bear."

"You're more than welcome," Bear said to her back as she walked out the door.

There was silence for a moment, and then Pierre asked, "What do you suppose that was all about?"

"What I wouldn't give to be a fly on the wall of the bridge right about now," Murdocke mused aloud. Caught by the thought, he cocked his head to one side. "'Course, we could just turn on the comm and hear the fireworks."

Bear frowned slightly. "Well, that would just be….wrong," he said slowly.

"Maybe, but entertaining as hell," Murdocke replied, looking hopefully at Pierre. "Wouldn't it?"

Pierre laid his cards facedown on the table. "Flip the switch," he said, his eyes twinkling with amusement. "But if Marcus finds out, it's you who will be cleaning the septic vat for the next millennium or so."

"Chance I'm willing to take," Murdocke grinned, heading for the comm unit with a spring in his step.

XXXXXXXXXX

Elizabeth's anger grew with each step she took toward the bridge. She thought she knew exactly why Marcus had studiously avoided her since coming back from the job. And the thought fueled her anger even more. Taking a deep breath which did nothing to calm her nerves, she stepped onto the bridge, a woman on a mission.

Marcus turned, the welcoming smile on his lips fading rapidly when he saw Elizabeth's expression. "Darlin'?" he said, a little nervously.

The expression of endearment was the last straw. "Don't you 'darlin' me, Marcus Hazzard," Elizabeth hissed, her eyes flashing like lightning in a summer sky. "If you don't want to marry me, just tell me, instead of just…..just…." Her words devolved into incoherent sputters.

"What the diyu are you talking about?" Marcus said, rising rapidly from his chair to stand face-to-face with his obviously insane lover. "What makes you think I don't want to marry you?"

Elizabeth was fairly certain her head might explode with the question. "How long have we been engaged, Marcus?"

Marcus cleared his throat. "Well, umm, about…nine…maybe ten months, I think."

Elizabeth crossed her arms over her chest. "Add a couple of months to that answer, and it will be the right one." She tapped her foot on the deck plating, unable to stay still.

Marcus felt the beginnings of a small anger burning in his own chest. "So, what's your point?" he asked, deliberately leaning back against the navigational console and crossing his own arms over his chest.

"Only this," Elizabeth said. "In that twelve months, how many worlds have we visited that had a Shepherd, Marcus? Or a gorram Justice of the Peace, for that matter? Thirty, maybe forty?"

Marcus looked at her in astonishment. "But you never said you wanted to…" he began.

"And you never even suggested that we go ahead with it, on any one of those worlds," she said, interrupting his objection. "Not even once." She paused, feeling hot tears beginning to spill down her cheeks and hating herself for the reaction.

"Bao bei," Marcus said softly, reaching to take her in his arms.

"Don't," she snuffled, stiffening at his touch. "Just….don't." Her voice was suddenly very small, and the change stabbed at Marcus' heart painfully.

"Elizabeth, look at me," he said, lifting her chin so that she could meet his gaze. "I'm in love with you, darlin'," he said softly as he brushed away her tears with the pad of his thumb. "It just never seemed the right time to do it, somehow. I mean, we've never really talked out how to…go about it. I didn't know you were waiting for me to…Well, what I mean is most womenfolk tend to want to…plan a big shindig with all the…." He made a vague motion with his hands. "…all the fancy...sundries and such."

Seeing her lover at such an obvious loss for words about the concept of wedding planning, Elizabeth felt abrupt merriment warring with her anger. Determined not to let him off the hook quite so easily, she put a hint of steel back in her voice. "Have I ever indicated to you, in any way, that I am interested in a large, elaborate wedding?"

"Well, no, I just kinda…" Marcus began to backpedal. "….conjured that you would want one like other…." Seeing her eyebrow rising dangerously, he stopped that sentence mid-stream.

"Like other women, you mean," she finished for him.

"Well now, I…" he said.

Seeing the look of utter panic plastered across Marcus' face, Elizabeth was struck by the notion that she had never seen that look on her lover before, not even when a job went horribly south. And something that had become hard and knotted in her stomach loosed itself suddenly. "I'm not 'other women', Marcus," she said, her voice softer now. "And I don't want a big wedding." She sighed, suddenly tired from the stress she'd been carrying. "I just want…..you."

Marcus felt his heart start beating in a normal rhythm again. Pulling her into his embrace, he said, "Well, you've got me. Had me for a long while now. And we'll get married soon's you want." He kissed her tenderly. "Why didn't you tell me sooner, before it ate at you for so long?"

Elizabeth sighed. "Because I wanted you to be the one to say it, I guess. Wanted to think that you would be eager to do it." A faint blush rose to her cheeks with the honesty of her words.

"Darlin', I've thought on it a thousand times," he whispered into her hair. "Imagined what you might like, where we might be when it happened. I just thought that you might not be ready yet, after everything we saw during the war. And then, when you never talked about what you wanted in the way of a ceremony of sorts, I conjured I'd just wait until you were ready."

Elizabeth smiled shakily. "Guess we're both at fault for not talking about it sooner."

Marcus smiled, pleased beyond measure to see her looking up at him with love instead of anger. "Well, the way I see it, we can cut ourselves a little slack, being as how we're new to this whole marryin' thing."

"Sounds reasonable to me," Elizabeth said, standing on her tiptoes to give him a kiss. "So long as we don't wait too much longer," she added.

"That's a promise," he replied.

XXXXXXXXXX

Down in the common area, Murdocke sighed. "Wasn't much of a fight, if you ask me."

Bear grinned. "Nope. Looks like we're all gonna have to take baths and put on our cleaner shirts for a wedding."

"And who knows," Pierre said, heading back to the table. "Once they're hitched, maybe Marcus will be able to come back and play a hand or two sometimes."

The three men laughed, exchanging jokes about the fate of their captain and friend.

XXXXXXXXXX

To be continued


	3. Chapter 3

**Fractured**

**Part II**

Authors: just_slummin and Midnight Obsidian

Disclaimer: Don't own 'em. Just playin' in Joss' sandbox.

Rating: PG

Summary: Mal talks with an old friend, and Elizabeth and Marcus discuss wedding plans.

XXXXXXXXXX

Mal scrubbed his hands across his face tiredly. The unwelcome thought came to him that he was not as young as he used to be, and that he could no longer function well on no more than a couple of hours of sleep at night. On his third cup of what was passing on Serenity for coffee at the moment, he was fair certain he couldn't have another without risking serious damage to his stomach lining.

He set the cup down and swallowed the last of the bitter sludge. Wishing he'd arranged for someone else to man the bridge, he checked the course settings drowsily. Thinking that perhaps he might close his eyes for just a moment, he leaned his head against the back of the pilot's chair and immediately began to doze.

The insistent buzz of the incoming wave jerked him awake, and he knocked his coffee cup to the deck plating with a low string of Chinese mutterings. When he set the cup back into an upright position, he turned to the Cortex screen and a grin lit his face.

"Monty," he said. "How in the worlds have you been?"

"Got no complaints my own self, Mal. You know me, long's the boat's got fuel and the men're not killin' each other, I'm good. How're the little ones and the missus?"

Mal nodded. "Good. Everybody's good." He saw no need to mention the total exhaustion of the whole crew since Adam's nightmares had begun. There was nothing to be gained by such a conversation anyway, to his way of thinking. "So, what occasions the wave?"

Monty's smile faltered a bit. "Was just hopin' you might have heard from Atwater."

Mal frowned. "No, can't say as I have. 'Least, not since the war. Why'd you ask?"

Mal could see Monty's discomfort despite the slight static around the screen. "Me and Atwater meet every U-day. You know, for a little palaver and a drink or two." He smiled slightly. "Well, make that ten or twelve. Anyways, Atwater didn't show this year, and he ain't ever been one to miss before."

Mal shrugged. "Maybehaps he just got delayed a mite. U-Day wasn't that long ago, and dependin' on where he was at the time…"

"That's what I thought at first too," Monty agreed. "But, it got to nigglin' at me a mite. Him not sendin' even a wave or nothin'. So, I got to thinkin' 'bout who else might know where he was."

"Well, me and Atwater weren't as close as all that," Mal said. "I don't have any idea where he might be." He thought for a long moment. "I know he spent a lot of time with Ace in the camps."

Monty nodded. "Well, that brings up the other problem. I thought about Ace, and I waved him." Suddenly looking older by far than he was, he said softly, "That's when I found out that Ace was murdered a few months back."

Shocked by the news, Mal gripped the arms of his chair tightly. "How?" he asked.

Monty sighed. "Best they could tell, it was some kinda robbery or some such gone wrong. His missus said they didn't find him for a few days, and when they did, all they could do was conjure what might have happened."

"So, they didn't find the killer?" Mal asked tightly.

"No, not as I know of," Monty said sadly. "Just don't seem right a man could go through all we went through in the first war, then go and settle down somewheres with a good woman, have a passel of kids, and years later get killed by some hundan lookin' for a little cashy money some night."

Mal nodded, agreeing wholeheartedly with the thought. "No, it doesn't," he said softly.

Monty visibly pulled himself back to the point at hand. "Anyways, that put me at a kinda dead end, if you'll pardon the pun, on findin' Atwater."

"What about McMillan?" Mal asked. "You asked him?"

"Tried," Monty replied with a sigh. "But you know McMillan. He comes and goes as he pleases. 'Cordin' to some of his old crew, they ain't seen hide nor hair of him for goin' on eight months now."

Mal frowned, a vague feeling of unease skittering down his spine. "Don't know what to tell you then, Monty. I see Atwater, I'll tell him you're looking for 'im."

Monty nodded. "All I can ask, Mal." He leaned forward to cut the transmission. "And Mal," he added, looking intently at the face of his friend. "You keep yourself safe, you hear?"

"You too, Monty," Mal replied, even as the screen went black.

XXXXXXXXXX

Elizabeth looked at the sample in her Petri dish with a mixture of curiosity and genuine excitement. For months, she'd been doing research into the possibility of neutralizing the designer acid that made Pierre dependent on constant treatment and redressing of the horribly disfigured skin tissue of his face. Reluctant to tell him what she was working on lest it prove to be ineffective, she had resorted to purchasing a very small, very expensive supply of the acid from a black market dealer on Persephone.

After analyzing its individual components, she felt that, given time, she could figure out a neutralizing agent of sorts. And after months of experiments, she had the feeling that she was very close to a potential solution.

Placing the contents of the Petri dish in a stronger light, she examined the skin carefully. She had grown it herself and was satisfied that it was of graft-quality despite its somewhat lowly origins. Exercising extreme care, she placed the skin in a new Petri dish and dropped a minute amount of the dangerous acid onto it. It immediately began to bubble horribly, and she quickly dropped the latest mixture of her antidote on the blistered surface before it could be completely eaten away.

Slowly but steadily, the effects of the acid appeared to be partially neutralized. Elizabeth smiled with satisfaction. She carefully covered the Petri dish, setting it aside for further examination in several hours, knowing as she did that the acid was designed to reactivate continuously. Praying that this time her experimental solution would be more successful than on previous attempts, she leaned down to put the dish into the bottom cabinet of the infirmary.

"My, my, what a beautiful sight," Marcus said, stepping quietly into the infirmary with a wicked grin.

Elizabeth jumped, almost upending the dish in the process. Hastily closing the cabinet, she turned. "How do you always do that?" she asked, a little embarrassed that Marcus had managed once again to sneak up on her without her knowledge.

"Years of practice with far less beautiful quarry," he said, advancing into the infirmary and closing the distance between them with two long strides.

"That so?" Elizabeth asked saucily.

"Uh huh." His arms encircled her waist and he pulled her closer to him. "Haven't seen you this morning. What're you working on down here?"

Elizabeth cursed the faint tell-tale blush that rose to her cheeks. "Nothing," she said.

"Looked like something to me," Marcus replied silkily, more intrigued by her reaction than whatever doctor-y kind of thing she was doing.

"Just a little science project to keep me occupied," she said, pressing her body against the long length of him in an effort at distraction.

It worked beautifully. Marcus leaned forward, placing a soft kiss on her lips. "Conjured you might be down here plannin' our wedding. Thought you might need some help with that."

Elizabeth's smile lit the room. "That sounds much better than what I was doing," she said happily.

Marcus had the suspicion that he might be grinning like a fool, but somehow the thought was not overly bothersome at that particular moment. "So, how attached are you to the thought of being married by a Shepherd?"

"Not overly. A magistrate somewhere will do just fine," Elizabeth admitted, intrigued. "Why?"

"Well, I've been thinking about it," Marcus said. "And I…well, I think I'd like for it to be a little more than just a few words mumbled over us by a stranger."

Elizabeth smiled slightly. "Why, Captain Hazzard, I do think that your romantical nature might be showing."

The tips of Marcus' ears turned suspiciously pink and Elizabeth stood on the tips of her toes to nibble at one gently. "I think I like that in a man," she whispered against the shell of his ear. "What did you have in mind?"

Though his brain short-circuited for a long moment, Marcus was dimly aware of the question at hand. Finally finding his voice, he answered huskily, "Got a lot on my mind at the moment, but what I came to talk about was who could do the ceremony."

"Um hmm," Elizabeth prompted even as she continued to nibble on his ear.

"And I thought…" He stopped for a moment, lost in the sensation of her lips brushing along his jawline. "I thought that it might be nice to be married in the Black," he said, barely suppressing a moan of pleasure.

Elizabeth rocked back on her heels to look into his eyes. "In the Black?" she asked, the notion unaccountably pleasing to her somehow.

Marcus swallowed thickly, regaining his powers of concentration once her lips left off their tantalizing explorations. "Thought it might be nice to have some of our friends about us. Maybe ask Mal to do the ceremony." He saw that she was taken with the idea. "And that way, you could have some women-type folks there too. You know, Inara…and Kaylee…and River and Zoe."

"And the children as well," Elizabeth breathed out happily.

Marcus nodded. "I expect Anya would be right happy to be included. And it was Adam that gave me back the ring that's on your finger now."

"Do you think that Mal would do it?" Elizabeth asked. "I mean, he doesn't seem the type to…preside over a ceremony…exactly."

"Well, there's no way to know unless we ask him," Marcus said. "Worst he could say is 'no'."

Elizabeth laughed. "I can imagine all sorts of things Captain Reynolds might say that are worse than 'no'," she said.

"Well then, I guess I'll just have to use my charm when I talk to him," Marcus grinned. He paused for a moment. "Or maybe you should use yours."

"Oh no," Elizabeth said, making a show of pushing Marcus toward the door. "I think that is a job for you, honey."

As Marcus left the infirmary on his mission, she watched him walk away and wondered how in all the wide 'verse she had been so fortunate as to walk onto the Hit or Miss on the day they met.

XXXXXXXXXX

The inspector looked down into the excavated pit. "Any idea how long the body's been buried here?" he asked, holding a cloth to his nose to lessen the stench of rotting flesh.

"Best guess, a good two or three months," the medical examiner on the scene said.

The inspector nodded, not needing to ask the cause of death as the head lay several feet from the body of the decomposing man.

"Any idea who it is?" he asked.

The medical examiner sighed. "Might take a little while to figure that out. Of course, we could get lucky and find a piece of him sufficient for the portable ID scan, but so far, I'm fairly certain that this one will have to be taken back to the lab."

The inspector sighed. "Just my luck. Thought if I moved out here to the ass end of the 'verse, I wouldn't have to stand around looking at…" He motioned to the pit. "…things like this."

"Plenty of psychos no matter what world you're on," the medical examiner said, climbing out of the pit with some difficulty and dusting his pants off methodically.

The inspector nodded in rueful agreement. "Suppose that's true enough," he replied. "Lab will take, what? Two, maybe three days?"

"That's about right, assuming we don't have to send anything offworld for analysis."

"In the meantime, you got anything you can give me?"

The medical examiner frowned for a moment, looking again into the pit. "I figure if the body was put back together, this man would be around six feet tall, give or take an inch or two. From what's left of the clothes, I'd say he wasn't from here. Maybe a wanderer. But I do know his political leanings."

The inspector's eyebrows lifted. "You do?"

"Isn't it obvious?" the medical examiner. "Just look at the color of that old coat."

The inspector nodded, wondering why he had not noticed before.

XXXXXXXXXX

To be continued


	4. Chapter 4

**Fractured**

**Part III**

Authors: just_slummin and Midnight Obsidian

Disclaimer: Don't own 'em. Just playin' in Joss' sandbox.

Rating: PG

Summary: Adam has another nightmare, and Mal decides it's time for a talk with his son.

XXXXXXXXXX

"The forensics indicate she's been dead almost six months," the coroner said. Her ponytail swished as she looked at the detective with a big grin. "But the good news is that we got an ID on her."

"Let me guess," the detective said with a roll of his eyes. "Some ex-Browncoat, maybe somebody who was interned at the camps."

The coroner's cheerful expression faded. "How'd you know?" she asked. "It's not like we see a lot of these old Browncoats on a core world like Sihnon."

The detective chuckled. "Saw the tattoo when we were digging her up."

The coroner scowled. "You coulda' said something then, you know," she huffed. "Would have saved me some time."

The detective grinned. "Didn't want to get in the way of your work," he said. "Young woman like you needs the practice."

The coroner's face turned an alarming shade of red. "I'll have you know, Detective, that I studied in the finest…"

"Yeah, yeah," the detective said, holding up his hands to forestall further comment. "I know, I know. Just couldn't help myself there for a minute." He paused, thinking that the coroner would be better served in her line of work with a somewhat less wholesome, youthful face than the one with which she had been graced. "So…you gonna tell me the name?"

The coroner consulted her notes. "Julia Lyman," she said with a small amount of satisfaction. "As you said, former Browncoat. Fought with dubious distinction in the Battle of Serenity. Interned on Santo for several months after the ceasefire, tried and released in the general amnesty that followed."

"And since then, what?" the detective asked, looking once again at the dismembered corpse on the slab.

"Can't help you there," the coroner said. "Guess that's your job to figure out."

"Guess so," he replied thoughtfully.

XXXXXXXXXX

Mal had not even made it around Serenity for his nightly walk yet when Adam began to scream. Grateful that he was not too far from his son's room at the moment, Mal ran the last few yards and opened the door to the now familiar sight of Adam battling his demons amidst the tangled sheets.

"Son," Mal said softly, and then more firmly, "Adam."

Adam jerked as if he'd been hit and his eyes popped open in panic. "Daddy," he wailed, holding up his arms to be held.

The action alarmed Mal more deeply than he could have once imagined. At six years old, Adam still hugged and kissed his parents good night, and even climbed up into Mal's lap occasionally if he was sick, or just exhausted. But, the propensity for gluing himself to his parents had diminished as he became more and more independent. Well aware of that fact, Mal knew that the sudden clinginess of his son was a sure sign that the boy was in emotional turmoil.

Adam wrapped his arms and legs around Mal's torso in a vise grip. Mal began to rhythmically rub his back, noting that his spine seemed bonier than it had just short weeks before. As he did every night, he asked after a few minutes, "Wanna talk about it?"

Adam ground his forehead into Mal's neck. "No," he whispered.

Mal sighed and maneuvered them both into the chair by Adam's bed. "Think maybehaps we're gonna have to talk about it, little fella'," he said softly. "Sometimes talkin' about a thing makes it better."

Adam looked up at his father with a frown. "You never talk about it," he said flatly.

"About what?" Mal asked.

"Your dreams," Adam said, his eyes intent on Mal's. "You never tell anyone what you dream about."

A sliver of discomfort stabbed Mal. "Ain't the same," he finally said, though he knew that was not a real answer.

"Why not?" Adam asked.

"Well, for starters," Mal began reluctantly. "My dreams don't wake me up screaming."

"Used to," Adam said matter-of-factly.

"Well, yeah, they did, for awhile," Mal admitted, distinctly uncomfortable now. "But then, after awhile, they didn't any more." He took a deep breath. "But I am a grown man, Adam, and you are a little boy. Way I figure it, maybehaps talking about it will help you more'n it woulda' helped me."

Adam looked at him doubtfully and said nothing at all. The silence stretched between them for a long time, and finally Mal could take it no more. Looking directly into Adam's eyes, so like his own, he tried to project a stern, fatherly frown. "Adam, I want you to tell me what it is that you see in your dreams." Even as he said the words, a tiny sliver of his brainpan wanted to never have this conversation, to never hear verbally that what Adam saw in his dreams were the horrors of Mal's own nightmares revisited on the next generation.

The little boy shivered despite the warmth of the room and his father's arms around him. He bit his lip, obviously dreading the re-telling of whatever he had seen.

Mal swallowed carefully. "Best to go ahead with it, son."

Adam closed his eyes and shuddered just once. Mal's heart skipped one painful beat as he watched his son gather his courage about him like a blanket.

"S'always dark," Adam whispered. His nose wrinkled. "And there's always a bad smell, like when the 'frigerator stopped workin' that time."

Mal's mind flashed without volition to the stench of rotting flesh in Serenity Valley before he could suppress the thought.

Adam continued in a hushed tone. "And there's….people…I think. Hurt bad." He stopped, his hands convulsively kneading the cloth of his pajamas. "Lots and lots of 'em." His throat worked noisily. "And sometimes, they're not just hurt. They're….dead." A small tear trickled down his cheek, but he took no notice of it, caught as he was in the vision of what he was recounting. "And….they're everywhere." Finally opening his eyes, he looked at Mal in anguish. "They're everywhere I can see, for as far as I can see, Daddy."

Mal nodded, unable and unwilling to say anything in reply, somehow knowing that Adam was not at the end of his description yet.

"And sometimes, they're…" Adam stopped talking abruptly.

"Sometimes they're what, son?" Mal asked softly, alarm bells going off in his head.

Adam dropped his gaze and stared at the space ship designs on his pajama bottoms. "Sometimes, the bodies I see….the body I see….is….you, Daddy." His voice caught on the last word, and he drew in a shuddering breath.

A chill ran down Mal's spine. "Adam," he said firmly, though he felt anything but firm at the moment. "Look at me, son."

Adam's eyelashes were spiky with tears, but he met his father's gaze.

"I'm right here," Mal said slowly, distinctly. "And I'm going to stay right here with you." He sighed. "I conjure that what you're seein' is something I saw a long while ago, something that gets into my back brain now and again when I'm tired and such. And you bein' a Reader and all, I'm thinkin' you're just…picking up on it somehow."

Adam looked at him curiously. "What did you see?" he whispered.

It had always been Mal's intention to talk to his children about Serenity Valley and what happened there. But in his mind, he had imagined it to be years down the road, when the children were mostly grown, and even then, he had intended that the story be told in broad brush strokes instead of minute detail, a history lesson rather than a testimonial. He took a deep breath. "You know that I fought in the war," he said by way of a beginning.

"Yes, and Mama too," Adam answered, nodding slowly. "And Miss Zoe, and Mr. Jim, and Mr. Jayne…"

"No," Mal said. "Not the war we were just in," he clarified. "The first war for independence."

"The one that ended in Serenity Valley, like the name of our boat," Adam supplied.

"Yes," Mal answered. "Fact of the matter is that I dream about Serenity Valley every now and then. It was a bad place to be back then." He paused, choosing to soften the tale for the benefit of tender ears. "I was there with Miss Zoe, and we saw some very bad things, things that a man don't forget. And I think that maybehaps what you're dreaming on is the things we saw." He ran his hands lightly down Adam's arms. "And I'm real sorry that you can see those things, Adam. If I had my wish, you would never see such as that, Reader or not. But as Mr. Jayne says, 'If wishes were horses'…"

"Then we'd all be eating steak," Adam finished, almost able to smile for a moment at Jayne's peculiar twist of the adage. Then his brow wrinkled in confusion. "But why do I see…you, Daddy? If I'm just dreamin' what you dream, why can I see you?"

"I don't know," Mal answered honestly. "But I imagine your Uncle Simon might be able to give us an answer on that."

"Don't want to talk to Uncle Simon about it," Adam said abruptly. "Don't want to tell anybody else."

Mal was caught between understanding Adam's reluctance and deciding what was actually in the best long-term interest of his son. "No way to hide that there's a problem, little fella'," he said gently. "Your uncle and most everybody else on Serenity's already been losin' sleep over it." At Adam's pained expression, he continued, "And there ain't any shame in it. Just somethin' we gotta suss out and get through together. Dong ma?"

Adam nodded, burrowing back into the shelter of Mal's arms. "Don't gotta tell him tonight, do I?"

Mal brushed his lips along the top of Adam's head. "No, little one. Tomorrow'll be soon enough. After we've had a good night's sleep." And with all his heart, a good night's sleep was exactly what he hoped for.

XXXXXXXXXX

Charlie McMillan wiped his mouth sloppily on the edge of his sleeve. Looking down at it, he wondered just how much alcohol that sleeve had absorbed over the years. Sighing, he rose a little unsteadily to his feet. U-Day always made him rather maudlin, and he'd been drinking steadily since the anniversary of it had come and gone this year.

By all rights, the outcome of the second war of independence should have made the day like any other, but McMillan was cursed with an exceptional memory, one that was clouded only by vast quantities of cheap whiskey in Rim world bars.

Staggering out into the swirling snow of St. Albans, he pulled the collar of his brown coat up over his ears and bent his head down to ward off the whipping wind. The small room he'd been renting since U-Day was a kilometer or so down the road, and he began the walk unsteadily. Within short minutes, he was lying facedown in a drift, cursing and spitting icy snow from his mouth.

"Need a hand?" a calm voice asked from somewhere above him.

Charlie looked up, squinting into the snow-filled air. There were two men standing there, weaving back and forth, and then it came to Charlie that maybe it was only one man. He blinked and reached for the hand the man offered. "Mighty obliged to you," he said, struggling upward while the world spun crazily around him.

"It's my pleasure," the man replied.

Charlie thought his voice sounded quite pleasant. "Mighta' had a little too much to drink back there," he said, somewhat apologetically as he leaned on the man's arm.

"Well, what else is one to do on these long winter nights?" the man asked, smiling.

Charlie returned the smile, glad to have someone to talk to on this god-forsaken world. The two men walked for a few minutes in silence before it occurred to Charlie that he had not told the man where he was staying. "I'm just up the road a piece," he said, motioning with a wavering finger in the general direction of the boarding house.

The man nodded. "Don't worry, Mr. McMillan," he said softly. "I'm here to make sure you get exactly where it is that you are going."

Charlie nodded, too inebriated to wonder how it was that a random passerby knew his name and cared where he was going. Four days later, when it was well past too late, he understood clearly. And on the fifth day, he knew nothing at all.

XXXXXXXXXX

To be continued


	5. Chapter 5

**Fractured**

**Part IV**

Author: just_slummin and Midnight Obsidian

Disclaimer: Don't own 'em. Just playin' in Joss' sandbox.

Rating: PG

Summary: Elizabeth lets Pierre in on her research, and Mal talks to Simon.

XXXXXXXXXX

Elizabeth stared for several minutes at the skin tissue in her Petri dish. She had repeated her experiment ten times now, and the results were always the same. Feeling almost euphoric, she slid the dish back under the infirmary cabinet and went to find Pierre.

She knocked on the door of his cabin at first softly, and then with more insistence when he did not answer.

"Where's the fire?" he called out, his voice slurred with sleep and more than a little irritated.

"No fire," Elizabeth called out as cheerily as she could, embarrassed to have forgotten he had been on the bridge the entire previous night. "If you want, I'll come back later."

Inside the cabin, Pierre frowned. It was a rare thing for Elizabeth to knock on his door, and he figured she must have something important to say to have awakened him. "Just a minute," he called, pulling on a pair of pants and a slightly rumpled shirt.

Elizabeth waited, practically bouncing on her toes to tell him what she had discovered. She heard movement behind the door and surmised that he was taking an extra moment to re-bandage his face and don his mask. He rarely appeared without it, and Elizabeth had only seen his face a few times since joining the crew. Invariably, those times had been caused by some necessity on his part for her medical skills. Hopefully, she thought, what she was about to show him would put an end to at least some of that.

Finally, the door opened and Pierre emerged, still tucking his shirt into his pants. "To what do I owe the pleasure?" he said with as good grace as a man who had just been awakened could muster.

"I'm sorry about waking you," Elizabeth said as she smiled widely. "I had forgotten you were on the bridge all night." Pierre shrugged, and she continued, "But there's something I'd like you to see in the infirmary."

Pierre sighed. "That light on the far left side go out again? Because if that's what it is, Murdocke's going to have to re-wire the thing."

"No, no, nothing like that," Elizabeth replied. "Something much better." Too excited to stop herself, she grasped his arm and pulled him toward the infirmary.

Curious now, Pierre allowed her to lead him along in silence until they reached the infirmary. Once there, she turned to him with shining eyes. "I've been working on something for you," she said. "And I think I've figured it out."

"What?" Pierre asked a little uneasily as he observed her obvious enthusiasm.

Elizabeth pulled a series of Petri dishes from under the cabinet and laid them out carefully for Pierre to see. "Do you know what these are?" she asked.

Pierre looked at them slowly. "Skin," he said a little tightly. "Not likely to forget what grafting material looks like, all things considered."

Elizabeth nodded. "That's right," she said. "But these aren't just any grafts. They're special."

Pierre's mind flashed to the myriad times he'd heard that assertion from various doctors in the past and the pain that inevitably followed. He took a step back from the counter. "Look, Elizabeth, I know that you mean well and I appreciate your concern, but I…I've been through more discussions like this than I can count. And they all end the same way…with me lying in a hospital bed in pain for exactly nothing."

"I know," Elizabeth said soothingly. "But this time, it's different."

"Heard that before too," Pierre replied flatly.

"Not from me," Elizabeth said. She looked at him steadily until he had to fight the urge to squirm under her gaze.

"Okay," he said with an air of resignation. "Tell me what's so different about this skin."

Elizabeth hopped up on a stool and motioned for him to do the same. "I know you're quite adept at the day-to-day maintenance required for your condition," she began. "But even so, it has to be an inconvenience to you. And on those rare occasions when you're not in a position to care for your needs as quickly as you should…" She paused delicately, allowing Pierre time to think about just how painful those times had been. Seeing the stricken expression in his eyes, she continued, "I think I may have found something that will potentially make your life much easier. It might essentially free you from the need to treat the area quite so regularly."

Taking his silence for acceptance, she went on. "The real problem, as you are well aware, is the acid," she said. "Until the acid can be neutralized, there is no point at all in skin grafts."

"True," Pierre murmured. "Proved that to my own satisfaction about ten surgeries ago."

"So," she said. "I began to work on a possible way to neutralize the acid, and I…I think I might have found it."

A small burst of hope coursed through Pierre's veins for just a moment before he ruthlessly suppressed it. He had long lived with the knowledge that hope for genuine improvement to his condition was invariably a road that led to bitter disappointment.

Elizabeth had spent a great deal of time learning to read Pierre's eyes for signs of what was going on inside his head and she could see the thoughts warring there now as surely as if they were written on his mask in neon letters. "I wouldn't have brought you down here without believing I am on the right track," she said softly. She slid gracefully off the stool. "But you don't have to take my word for it. I can show you."

Pierre joined her at the counter, and she began to explain in detail the steps she had taken to test her antidote. Showing him each step of the process in turn, she came to the last of the Petri dishes. "And this," she said triumphantly, "is the latest one."

Pierre looked at it intently. "How long has it been exposed to the acid?" he asked, his voice sounding slightly rusty to his own ears.

"Three days," Elizabeth said sunnily. "And I treated it with the neutralizing agent only once."

A small sliver of excitement fought through Pierre's natural skepticism. "Three days," he repeated softly as he looked again at the small pink square of skin. He drew a deep breath. "So, assuming you can duplicate these results again, what does it mean?" he asked. "I mean, how does it translate into something to help me? I'm assuming that the tissue you're using was healthy to begin with, and mine…" He looked at her bleakly. " is far from that."

Elizabeth nodded. "That's true," she conceded. "But I think that if we can treat your facial tissue with the neutralizing agent, we can at least stop the daily regimen of changing bandages and treating the skin with medicated ointment. That would, I believe, free you from the time constraints with which you are burdened every day."

Pierre nodded slowly. "But it would not make me…." He paused, swallowing thickly. "It would not repair the basic damage done. I'd still have to….wear this." He pointed vaguely to the mask.

"I'm not sure," Elizabeth answered honestly. "That would be dependent on your body's ability to heal once it is unimpeded by the acid." She paused for a moment, tapping her fingertips to her lips. "Of course, once the acid is not a problem, it is quite possible that skin grafts would take," she said. "The extent of the damage might make it difficult to completely repair, but if the grafts would work, I think it might be within the realm of possibility to believe that you could be free of the mask."

"Depending on the level of my vanity, of course," Pierre said.

"There is that to consider," Elizabeth replied mildly. "And there is also the fact that there would have to be many grafting operations to do the job effectively. And as you know, grafting is quite…."

"Painful," he supplied.

Elizabeth frowned in sympathy. "Yes," she admitted. "You would have to decide whether it was worth it to you to go forward with the operations."

"Could you do them onboard?" he asked. "Or would I have to leave the Hit or Miss? Because I don't think Marcus would approve of losing his pilot for too long."

"I couldn't do them alone," Elizabeth admitted. "The work is altogether too delicate. I'd need at least one more trained surgeon, preferably someone very skilled." Silence fell between them for a long moment until Elizabeth shook herself slightly. "But, we might be getting ahead of ourselves with this line of reasoning anyway. First, we need to see if the antidote will actually work for you. Until then, it's useless to contemplate the next step." She paused. "So, what do you think? Are you willing to give it a try?"

Pierre stood silently for several minutes, looking again at each of the Petri dishes. Elizabeth waited quietly. Finally, Pierre drew a deep breath. "Have you got any more new skin?" When Elizabeth nodded, he said, "Then how about you let me see it work from beginning to end on a sample? Maybe then I can…"

"Believe that it's real," Elizabeth completed his thought softly.

Pierre nodded.

XXXXXXXXXX

Simon leaned back against the infirmary counter with a long sigh. His head was swimming with the conversation he had just had with his nephew.

"So," Mal said, stepping back into the room after depositing Adam back with the other children for his lessons. "Got any ideas about what's going on with him?"

"Well, there are any number of things that might be triggering his nightmares," Simon began slowly. "Obviously, he's been exposed, as have all the children, to some pretty violent images, living as we do." The fact that the same could be said of his own son Daniel did nothing to lessen Simon's concern. "And then there is the fact that he is definitely a Reader. I'd have to talk to River about that, but I would imagine that control in that area would be something that a six-year-old might not be able to achieve perfectly."

Mal's eyes told Simon silently how much the thought of Adam's picking up on his nightmares haunted him. "I conjured he was tunin' in to my dreams, but the things he describes….well, they ain't all me, if you know what I mean."

Simon nodded. "The mind is an amazing thing, Mal. It is possible, probable in fact, that Adam is taking the images from your dreams and processing them in a way that makes sense to him. Perception is highly relative, after all."

"So you don't think that maybe there might be something else going on?" Mal asked reluctantly.

"Such as?" Simon wondered aloud.

Mal shifted his feet uncomfortably. "Well, some of the things he described just seem….real disturbed-like." He exhaled a breath he had been unaware of holding. "I mean to say, what I'm wondering is….is everything all right with my boy?"

"If you're asking if Adam is developing some sort of psychosis, I would have to say 'no'," Simon answered slowly. "At least, I do not believe that he is. I don't see any change in his interaction with others, or other indications of mental illness." He paused delicately. "Have you seen anything like that in his behavior?"

Mal sighed. "Not as I know of," he said. "Just a few worryin' things, like the fact he ain't eatin' much of anything lately, and of course, the nightmares. It's gettin' to be a test to get 'im to go to bed, even if River or I promise to stay with him through the night."

Simon nodded. "The loss of appetite is consistent with a lack of energy, which is hardly unusual considering the small amount of sleep he's getting every night. So that, of itself, is not a huge concern right now."

Mal's shoulders slumped. "So, seems to me the thing we gotta do is get him some quality sleep time. Only, I can't see how to do that long's he's having these dreams."

"Well," Simon began. "There are some medications that might help with that. Smoothers that might make a difference."

"No," River said flatly, floating into the infirmary. "What if they do to him what they do to me?" She wrapped her arms around her chest in an unconsciously defensive manner. "Gorram things just make me unable to wake up. They don't stop the nightmares. Just trap me inside them."

"But mei mei, Adam's case is different. His brain has not been surgically altered," Simon said softly. "There is no reason to believe that smoothers would harm him. And they might be very helpful. With sufficient rest, it's possible the nightmares will just---go away of their own accord."

River was less than convinced and Simon could see that Mal, too, was torn between worry that the smoothers would harm his son and hope that relief for Adam was as simple as an injection before bedtime. He sighed. "Worst case scenario, Adam has another night of nightmares despite the smoother," he said gently. "Best case scenario, we all get a good night's sleep and reassess everything in the morning."

Mal sighed, scrubbing his hands across his face. "River?" he asked. "Whaddya' want to do?"

Seeing the sliver of hope in Mal's mind for a miracle cure for what ailed their son, River smothered her instinctual distrust of Simon's smoothers. Squaring her shoulders, she replied, "Do it."

Simon nodded, moving to the medicine dispensary to calculate the correct dosage for the child before his parents changed their minds.

XXXXXXXXXX

To be continued


	6. Chapter 6

**Fractured**

**Part V**

Authors: just_slummin and Midnight Obsidian

Disclaimer: Don't own 'em. Just playin' in Joss' sandbox.

Rating: PG

Summary: Adam begins to reveal the content of his dreams, and Mal begins to worry in earnest.

XXXXXXXXXX

He hugged his knees to his chest, his body fighting valiantly to ward of the bitter cold. Shivering enough to shake some of the snow from his hair, he opened his eyes and looked around cautiously, trying to discern where he was. He dimly remembered his father having told him that on worlds where there was an abundance of snow, a person could fashion a shelter of sorts called an igloo to get out of the biting wind. Perhaps that was what he should do, he thought.

His arms and legs felt unusually heavy as he straightened himself clumsily. He staggered slightly as he rose to his feet and faced the wind. He squinted into the snow. Maybe there was shelter up ahead, and he would not have to struggle with building his own. He allowed himself the hope that there was a warm fire and a kindly woman up the road, one who would tuck him in and read him a story. He ignored the tiny, sneering voice in his head that told him such women didn't really exist.

He stumbled forward, up to his knees in a drift. He flailed around for a moment, and his hands hit something solid. Curious, he began to dig, sweeping the snow away in large armfuls until he could see what he had stumbled across. A wave of nausea welled up inside him as he stumbled backward, frantically trying to get away from the hideously dismembered corpse before him. He cried out in terror, and the world dissolved around him.

XXXXXXXXXX

Adam moaned, thrashing in his bed until his sheets were wrapped around his legs tightly. Mal jerked awake on the floor beside his son's bed. Tamping down the deep desire to curse as crudely and loudly as possible, he gritted his teeth and thought that Simon's smoothers were apparently not the miracle cure for which he had hoped.

"S'all right, little one," he said in a ragged tone. "Just a dream."

Adam continued to moan, and Mal thought that at least the smoothers had stopped the blood-chilling quality of his screams. And while that helped everyone else on Serenity to sleep easier, apparently it did little for Adam. Seeing that he was still caught in the nightmare, Mal shook him gently. "Adam," he called. "Adam. It's all right. Adam."

Adam continued to struggle against him, and then slowly the little boy awoke. Tears coursed down his newly-hollow cheeks as he clung tightly to Mal's suspenders and buried his head under his father's chin.

Mal rubbed his back soothingly for a long while. Finally, Adam spoke. "Not your dreams, Daddy," he whispered. "Somebody….something else."

Mal pulled slightly away so that he could look into Adam's haunted eyes. "What do you mean?" he asked gently.

Adam sighed wearily. "You think it's your dreams I see, but I don't think it is."

"Then what do you think it is?" Mal asked, suppressing a shiver of apprehension.

"A boy," Adam answered. "A little boy. And bad things happen around him. Something….ugly….and….dark. A monster."

Mal bit back the urge to tell Adam there were no such things as monsters. He knew his son had seen enough to know that for the lie it was. Thinking of Simon's advice that getting Adam to open up about the dreams might lessen their impact, he asked, "What kind of monster? What does it look like?"

Adam frowned in concentration. "Don't know," he whispered finally. "Never see the monster. But sometimes…" He paused, shuddering. "Sometimes I see what it does."

Mal swallowed nervously. "And what does it do?" he asked quietly.

"Hurts people….really bad. Tears them apart…like paper. And it's dark, and it's cold sometimes, and it smells bad all the time…and there's blood everywhere….and the people are screaming…and the little boy, he can't….he can't…"

As Adam's voice took on a frantic tone, Mal tried to calm him. "Slow down, son," he said as calmly as he could manage considering the degree of alarm he felt internally. "Just…take a deep breath."

Adam fought for control of his racing heart. Trying to do as his father directed, he took a slow, deep breath and blew it out. "The boy can't….he can't stop the bad things from happening. It's everywhere he goes."

Mal nodded, thinking that maybehaps he was discovering what lay at the root of his son's nightmares at last. "How old is the little boy?" he asked.

Adam shrugged. "'Bout my age, I think."

Mal thought for a long moment, trying to find a way to phrase his words to do the most good for Adam. Finally, he spoke. "There's no denyin' there are some really bad people out in the 'verse," he began. "And bein' as how we travel a lot, we've met more of 'em than anyone would usually meet in a lifetime." He pulled Adam closer into his embrace. "But you know that everyone in our family looks out for everybody else, right?"

Adam nodded, though he still looked at Mal with haunted eyes. Mal went. "And there's me, and Mama, and Miss Zoe, and Mr. Jayne, and Mr. Jim, and Miss Inara, and your Uncle Simon and Aunt Kaylee to see to things that could be a danger to us, right?"

Adam nodded again.

"And all of those folks would do anything in the 'verse to keep you safe."

"I know, Daddy," Adam said.

Mal smiled tenderly. "So you don't have to worry like that little boy in your dream 'bout handlin' things alone, dong ma?"

"Yes, Daddy," Adam replied obediently, though Mal could see that he was not firmly convinced.

"Don't conjure there's a monster out there that could handle your Mama and Zoe, if it came right down to it," Mal said by way of easing the tension of the moment.

His words had the desired effect, if only temporarily. Adam smiled tiredly. "Guess not," he replied as he began to yawn.

Mal laid him gently down on the bed and lay beside him. "I'll be here all night, little fella'. Close your eyes and go on back to sleep."

Adam's eyelids fluttered shut and Mal prayed that the rest of the night would pass without incident.

XXXXXXXXXX

"Don't know that I'm all that keen on losing a pilot for long enough for all this to work," Marcus admitted as he looked at the Petri dishes.

"You wouldn't deny a man a chance at meaningful recovery just to keep the Hit or Miss flying," Elizabeth chided gently.

Marcus smiled mischievously. "Don't know about that. After all, this ship's my baby."

Elizabeth pretended to pout. "And here I thought I was your baby."

"Well now, that's a different thing entirely," Marcus replied, winking. "But truly, bao bei, you think this'll work? Pierre's been through a helluva lot of pain already. I just….well, I hate to see him get hurt."

"I wouldn't have even suggested it if I didn't think it was a viable option," Elizabeth replied seriously. "Apart from my oath as a doctor, I am very fond of Pierre. And I know that you are quite close to him."

Marcus nodded. "Been through a lot with him by my side. Owe 'im my life more times than I can count." He sighed. "So, if he does decide to go through with this thing, 'bout how long d'ya suppose it'll take? Because I was sorta figuring on asking him to stand with me when we tie the knot."

Elizabeth's smile shone like the sun. "You're going to ask him to be your best man?"

Marcus shrugged. "Closest thing I got to family, other'n you. You didn't think I'd ask Murdocke, did you?"

Elizabeth grinned. "I see your point."

XXXXXXXXXX

"So you think it is just a matter of Adam feeling helpless to protect us from random violence?" River asked, frowning.

Mal rolled his neck from side to side, easing the tension in his shoulders. "I'm just telling you what he told me. The little boy in the dream is upset because he can't stop whatever's happening. Seems to me that might be a hint as to what's eating at Adam." He sighed. "You got any other insights as might make sense? Anything you can sense from him whilst he dreams?"

River shook her head. "The nightmares….they're too intense," she said sadly. "He's panicked by whatever it is. Not easy to read through." Seeing Mal's confusion, she said, "Like looking at colors that are too bright. Everything becomes a blur."

Mal nodded, understanding at least a little of what she was expressing. "But…you've read mine before. Known what I was dreaming. Seen what I was seeing."

"True, but you're not a little boy, ai ren," River replied. "Even terrified, you have a certain…order to your perceptions. Not like a child, who sees and reacts without the mitigating factor of experience….and wisdom."

Mal snorted. "Don't know about the 'wisdom' part," he said wryly. "How wise is it to expose all the young'uns on this boat to what we do? I'm thinkin' it may be coming back to haunt us now."

"What would you do differently, given the chance?" River asked. "Were it not for violence, you and I would not be sitting here together, worrying about our son." She touched Mal's brow, trying to smooth the line that was developing there. "Remember that I lived on Osiris, surrounded by wealth and privilege, and yet, violence found me even there."

"Ain't like to forget that," Mal replied softly. "It's just….I gotta say it cuts deep to know that he doesn't feel…secure. That he feels like he has to do the protecting. Ain't something a young boy should have to worry over."

"You worried as a young boy," River pointed out, seeing easily in Mal's mind the responsibilities he'd carried as the only son of a widowed woman. "And look how you turned out."

"It's thinking about such as that keeps me up nights," Mal replied grimly.

XXXXXXXXXX

Zoe sat beside Anya and dangled her legs over the catwalk above the cargo bay. "What are you doing down here?" she asked.

Anya sighed. "Just needed a little alone time," she said. "Hannah and Daniel are so grumpy."

Zoe nodded. "They can get a little fractious now and again," she said mildly.

"Probably just lack of sleep," Anya said. "Don't suppose anybody's gotten a full night of sleep for nearly a month."

Zoe looked at her sympathetically. "Must be hard being in the room right next door to him," she said.

Anya nodded, her leg swinging dejectedly over the edge of the catwalk. "I know he doesn't mean to," she said.

Zoe was quiet for a long moment, considering what to say. "Does he….talk to you about it?" she asked. "I mean, I know you two are close."

"He doesn't really talk about it," Anya said. "I just know it's something really bad." She sighed. "Because you know, Adam's not afraid of anything. You remember what happened last time we were on Harvest?'

Zoe rolled her eyes. "I do. How could I forget? Almost had to put the Captain in a strangle hold to stop him killing the boy." She smiled at the memory. "Absolutely fearless."

Anya turned worried eyes to her mother. "That's what's so worrying," she said. "Whatever it is, it scares him spitless. What if whatever it is….is real, and not just a dream?"

Zoe inhaled slowly, the treacherous thought having crossed her own mind on more than one night. "If it is, then we'll deal with it, just like we deal with everything else. Dong ma?"

Anya nodded solemnly and they sat silently side by side looking down into the empty cargo bay for a long while.

XXXXXXXXXX

He looked down at his handiwork, satisfied that he had made his point with the old Browncoat. He looked up at the sky and noted with minor annoyance that the snow had lessened. Having hoped to do the rest of his work unseen by any of the nosy inhabitants of St Albans, he would have liked for the snow to continue for awhile yet. It would have saved him the trouble of digging a pit if his victim had simply been covered with several feet of snow. Considering the general weather patterns for the planet, he knew the ground would most likely be frozen solid.

However, he was nothing if not prepared. Taking out a small torch, he began the work of thawing an area large enough to suit his needs. Of course the pit would not have to be too large, he thought with a satisfied smile. After all, there really wasn't that much left for disposal.

XXXXXXXXXX

To be continued


	7. Chapter 7

**Fractured**

**Part VI**

Authors: just_slummin and Midnight Obsidian

Disclaimer: Don't own 'em. Just playin' in Joss' sandbox.

Rating: PG

Summary: Pierre contemplates his future, and Monty has a strange encounter.

XXXXXXXXXX

Pierre turned on the light in his cabin and looked carefully at the skin tissue in the Petri dish Elizabeth had given him. It looked healthy, almost completely so, and Pierre sighed. A small part of his brain, which he was studiously trying to ignore, had hoped that Elizabeth's concoction would not work, thereby eliminating the need for him to be decisive. But the tissue lay there in the dish, pink and maddeningly insistent.

Moving to the sink, he removed the mask that had served as his public face for the last several years and slowly began to unwind the bandages underneath. Though his fingers had done the same thing thousands of times before, he took time with the task, his mind heavy with the decision he faced.

He turned on the light above the mirror, blinking in the suddenly blinding glare. When his eyes adjusted to the brightness, he leaned close to the mirror and did something he had not done for a long time. He examined his face.

He drew in a slow breath, wincing at the misshapen lumps of flesh revealed. He pulled on a pair of surgical gloves and gently ran his fingertips along the acid-etched scars, newly formed each day with the continuing effect of the torture he'd endured so long ago at Niska's hands. The resulting pain was almost reassuring in its familiarity.

He closed his eyes and for a moment the horrific sight of his disfigurement was replaced in his mind by the smooth skin he had once worn so casually. Though he normally tried not to think of how handsome he had once been, as the thought usually brought nothing but equal parts anger and pain, he allowed himself to remember the feel of healthy skin beneath his fingertips, the scrape of a razor over a stubbly chin, the brush of a woman's hand over newly smooth cheeks.

As if in defense, his mind immediately supplied a counterpoint, and he thought of the pain of badly botched skin grafts, the bitter disappointment as the self-renewing acid slowly and inexorably ate through new skin, the antiseptic smell of hospitals, the months of agonizingly slow recovery.

Turning off the bright light, he walked to the bed and sat down heavily. He wondered how it could be that he was both grateful to Elizabeth for the potential solution to his problem and angry with her for putting him in such a dilemma at the same time. Having long since made his peace with the condition of his face, he had been on sure footing for a long while. And now, Elizabeth, though meaning well, had yanked the proverbial rug from under his feet, leaving him flailing wildly for balance.

Almost tenderly, he picked up a roll of gauze and re-wrapped his face. He stood, squaring his shoulders. It was time to tell Elizabeth his decision. Slipping on his mask, he headed to the infirmary.

XXXXXXXXXX

Kaylee walked into the infirmary cradling her left arm in her right hand.

"What happened, ai ren?" Simon asked in alarm.

"I lost my hold on the engine housing," Kaylee said tiredly. "And my arm slipped, and got fried against the gorram metal."

Having rarely heard his wife curse, Simon tried to hide his surprise. Gently taking her proffered arm, he saw a line of angry blisters appearing on her tender skin.

"It's bad, ain't it?" she asked as she saw the deep frown that creased her husband's brow.

"Well," he said slowly. "It's not good." Seeing her worried look, he added, "But it's not terrible either. It will just take a little time to heal. I've got something that should prevent it from scarring, if I apply it right away."

He moved quickly, soothing her injury with practiced hands.

Kaylee closed her eyes and allowed herself to relax for a moment. "Don't know how I made such a stupid mistake," she said. "Ain't like I don't know my way around an engine room by now."

Simon sighed. "It's probably just exhaustion, Kaylee. You've been working really hard lately, and I know you haven't been getting much sleep."

Kaylee shrugged. "Can't be helped, I reckon, at least until Adam can get over whatever ails him." She sighed. "Wish there was something I could do for the little guy. He's surely havin' a hard time of it."

Simon smiled, appreciating the fact that even though Kaylee was the one with the injury, she was more concerned with their young nephew's welfare. "I'm certain that Adam will be fine," he said gently. "And in the meantime, I think you should have some rest."

"Can't be slackin' at the job now," Kaylee replied. "Not with all the stuff needs doin' in to my girl. Cap'n wouldn't like it."

"Well, in this case, I overrule the Captain," Simon said, finishing up the bandage around Kaylee's arm. "You can't work with one arm, and this one will be useless to you for at least a few days."

"But.." Kaylee began.

"No 'buts'," Simon said firmly. "As your doctor, I prescribe immediate bed rest. You're practically dead on your feet as it is."

Kaylee sighed. "All right, but if we fall straight outta the sky, don't be blamin' me, Simon Tam."

"I assure you I won't," he said, herding her gently toward her bunk.

XXXXXXXXXX

Inara carefully dabbed at the smear of green paint on the front of her dress, wondering what insanity had prompted her to wear one of her better dresses on a day that the children would be painting. However, she smiled at her reflection in the mirror, remembering the look of pure joy on Daniel's face as he'd cheerfully run his hands through all the paints and splashed a generous amount on anyone who came within range of his little workstation.

Having managed to clean most of the green from her dress, she stepped back out into the room and surveyed the damage. As if on cue, River glided into the room and looked around with a wide grin. "I see we have another artist in residence," she said, picking up the newly multicolored Hannah.

"It would seem so," Inara replied with a smile. "Fortunately, I remembered to use washable paint this time."

River nodded. "Adam," she said. "Art time is over. It's time for a nap."

Adam frowned, still absorbed in his drawing. "Aww, Mama, please don't make me take a nap today. I ain't finished with my picture."

"I am not finished with my picture," River corrected automatically. She knew that Adam was resistant to the idea of napping because he was afraid to sleep and dream. She sighed and looked at Inara. "Would it be all right if…"

Inara nodded. "It would be fine for Adam to stay and finish his picture." She laid her hand lightly on the young boy's shoulder. "And after the picture is done, perhaps we can have a little tea. How would that be?"

Adam nodded and looked up at River hopefully, knowing as he did that Miss Inara's tea was always served with sugar cookies when it was just the two of them. "S'it okay, Mama?"

River nodded. "Of course. Thank you, Inara. Just send him to me when you're finished. I imagine I'll still be cleaning the paint out of Hannah's ears for awhile yet. Nap time can wait today."

Adam smiled up at Inara, thinking that it was always a treat to have her all to himself. She smiled back, thinking much the same thing. "So, what are you working on?" she asked, leaning down to see his drawing.

Adam turned the picture over quickly, hiding it from her view. "S'not important," he said, suddenly apprehensive.

Inara was surprised by Adam's response, as he was usually quite eager to show her his work. "I'd love to see it," she said encouragingly.

Adam looked at her for a long moment, reticence warring with his desire to please her. Slowly, he turned the picture over and Inara bent to retrieve it. In that moment, she thanked Buddha for her years of Companion training. She smiled at Adam gently. "Well, this is….quite….unique," she said carefully, grateful that her hand did not shake as she held the picture steady. "Where…where did you get the idea for this?"

Adam shivered as if a cold gust of wind had hit him. "Saw it in my head," he said softly.

Inara swallowed back the panic she felt with his answer. To have a moment to think of a good reply, she looked at the picture more carefully. In stunning detail well beyond what she had thought his skill level to be, he had rendered the stuff of nightmares on the sketch pad, dark, disturbing images drawn in stark relief against the white paper.

She was unaware she had sunk to her knees until she felt Adam's hand on her shoulder. "Did I do something wrong, Miss Inara?" he asked in a small voice.

"No, no, Adam honey, you've done nothing wrong," she hastened to soothe him. "This picture is….very detailed."

"It's what the boy sees," Adam whispered.

For a frightening moment, Inara wondered if Adam was referring to himself in the third person like River had done when she was close to an episode of psychosis. "What boy?" she asked gently.

Adam sighed tiredly. "The boy in the dream," he said so softly she had to strain to hear him. "The little boy in my head every night."

A cold chill ran down Inara's spine, but she smiled brightly at Adam. "Let's have that tea now, shall we?" she asked.

As Adam nodded eagerly, she put the picture carefully down on the tabletop and thought that as soon as tea-time was over, she would take it to Simon for his opinion.

XXXXXXXXXX

Monty sat at the bar, ostensibly having a leisurely drink, but actually observing the patrons of the bar carefully in search of his now two hours late contact. Though he was by nature an easy-going man, he did not appreciate cooling his heels when there was coin to be made.

"Mind if I sit here?" a calm voice asked.

Monty looked around to see a young man smiling at him politely. Mildly surprised that he had managed to seemingly appear out of thin air, Monty nodded and smiled. "Free 'verse," he said heartily. "Sit where you want. I don't like to drink alone."

The young man smiled and sat down gracefully beside him. "I don't believe I've seen you here before," he said pleasantly.

"Not likely to have," Monty replied. He paused for a sip of the cheap whiskey. "Just passin' through."

"Oh?" the young man said. "Where are you headed?"

Monty had not lived as long as he had by sharing information overmuch with strangers. "Nowhere in particular," he said, shrugging.

"Drifting, are you?" the young man asked as if he understood.

"You might could say that," Monty replied easily.

They drank in silence for several minutes. "Couldn't help but notice your coat," the young man said.

Monty patted the leather of his coat like a beloved pet. "Had this coat a long while," he said proudly.

The young man nodded. "Since the first war, I'd expect," he said softly.

Monty took a long pull on his liquor. "Yep," he said. "I was in the first one, and graced by God to be in the second one too. Lotsa' folks weren't so lucky, may they rest in peace."

The young man nodded and raised his glass in a silent toast. "That's true enough," he said softly. "Knew a man that died right at the end of the war, in Serenity Valley. A very good man." He paused for a beat. "Were you there….in Serenity Valley, I mean?"

Monty nodded. "Gorram straight, I was," he said. "Helluva place to be, right there at the end and all." He paused, looking at the young man appraisingly. "You couldn't have been all that old when the first war ended."

"No, I was quite young," the man replied.

"So, who was the man you knew there?" Monty asked curiously. "I knew most everybody there right at the end. Weren't all that many of us left. 'Spect I might have known your fellow."

The young man blinked slowly, and Monty had the strange notion that something had changed dramatically behind the man's eyes. The thought made him mildly uncomfortable, but he brushed it away as ridiculous. There was nothing for him to worry about in such a clean cut young man, he reasoned. Must be getting soft in the head to even have such a thought.

"I don't imagine you knew him," the young man answered slowly. "He fought for the…..other side."

"Oh," Monty replied for lack of something more articulate to say. The suddenly piercing quality of the young man's gaze discomfited him unaccountably. He cleared his throat. "Reckon there was a lot of good men as died on both sides," he said finally.

After another slow blink, the young man smiled. "I imagine you're quite right," he said pleasantly. He sipped slowly from his glass, watching Monty closely. "I've had occasion to meet many Browncoats in my travels, and their insights about the war have been quite interesting. I believe I've come to know them very well." He took a small sip of his drink. "In fact, I'm actually involved currently in a little research with regard to Independents who fought in Serenity Valley. Perhaps you might be interested in what I've discovered. I've got an extensive collection of captures from the war. They're on my ship. I'd really appreciate it if you could come with me and take a look at them. Perhaps help me identify who they are, since you were there."

Monty stroked his beard. "Whereabouts is your ship?" he asked, thinking it might be interesting to look at the captures.

"Just a couple of clicks away," the young man said, smiling. "Wouldn't take all that long. And I'd be most….pleased to have you."

"Well," Monty said. "I conjure I've got enough time to….." He paused, looking over the young man's shoulder at the man coming through the door. Two hours late, and still the hundan was sauntering in like he owned the place, Monty thought. Turning his attention back to the young man, he said, "Maybe some other time," he said. "Fellow I was waiting for just walked in, and business comes 'fore pleasure. Sorry." He smiled heartily and slapped the young man on the back.

The young man slid off the stool easily. "Perhaps another time," he said politely.

Monty nodded and walked toward his contact, forgetting the young man almost instantly. And so it was that he walked out of the bar a very lucky man, heedless of the sudden venom in the young man's cold eyes.

XXXXXXXXXX

To be continued


	8. Chapter 8

**Fractured**

**Part VII**

Authors: just_slummin and Midnight Obsidian

Disclaimer: Don't own 'em. Just playin' in Joss' sandbox.

Rating: PG

Summary: It's a busy day for doctors, as Simon and Elizabeth both face unique challenges.

XXXXXXXXXX

"Can you feel this?" Elizabeth asked, touching a small area along Pierre's jawline with a soft-bristled brush.

"Yeah," he slurred in reply. "I feel it."

"Does it hurt?" Elizabeth asked.

Pierre paused for a moment, trying to string the words together into a coherent thought through the narcotic-induced haze. "No."

Elizabeth smiled. "Good," she said. "I don't believe I could have safely given you more pain meds."

"S'a pity," he answered as his eyelids lost their battle to stay open.

Satisfied that he was as comfortable as he could safely be made, she began the meticulous work of trimming away the tissue of his face that was too damaged to be salvageable. It had been a long time since she'd done any cosmetic surgery beyond the occasional quick work of lessening the scarring around a bullet hole or sewing a stab wound neatly together. The magnitude of what she was now doing was in another league entirely, and in a few minutes she realized that she had been holding her breath. Releasing it slowly, she shook her head to clear the worrisome thoughts that would do her patient more harm than good.

She heard the tromp of Marcus' boots outside the infirmary door and smiled behind her surgical mask. She knew he was making the sound loud enough that she could hear him long before he arrived and not startle her into making an unfortunate slip with her scalpel.

"Need any help?" he asked, poking his head around the edge of the door.

"Not right now," she replied. "This will just take a little while. I don't want to ruin any skin that is viable. If the antidote for the acid works as I anticipate, he'll be well served with any skin of his own that is healthy."

Marcus looked down at Pierre, making sure his pilot was out before asking the question. "And if it doesn't work as you anticipate?"

Elizabeth sighed. "Then I'll start again until I find something that will." She worked silently for a beat. "If he'll allow it, that is."

Marcus nodded and took a closer look at Pierre's face. Thinking suddenly that such close scrutiny wasn't doing his digestion much good, he swallowed thickly and stepped away from the table. "Well I'll just….be outside if you need me," he said.

Elizabeth nodded, oblivious to Marcus' sudden queasiness. "Don't worry. I'll take good care of him, hon," she said distractedly, concentrating on her patient and missing for the most part his hasty retreat.

She worked steadily, her hands becoming surer as she went. Three hours later, she spread the neutralizing agent on the last of the affected skin and straightened her back tiredly. She inspected her work a final time before slowly pulling off her gloves. Now, there was nothing more to do than the hardest thing of all, which was to wait and see if what she had just done would actually work. Saying a little prayer, she threw the surgical gloves into the waste bin and sank down into a chair by Pierre's bed.

XXXXXXXXXX

Not for the first time, Simon was amazed by Mal's rigid control. Had he known the Captain less well, he would probably not have even noticed the small tremor in his hands as he looked down at Adam's macabre sketch.

"Inara thought it best to bring it to me," Simon said carefully. "As you can imagine, she was…concerned."

"You've got a real talent for understatement there." Mal exhaled slowly. "So, what do we do about this? I conjure your opinion is that this kind of picture ain't…normal for a six-year-old."

Simon scrubbed his hands across his face tiredly. "In and of itself, the picture is …troubling, to say the least." Though reluctant to do so, he reached out and pointed. "For instance, the way that he's drawn the…"

"Monster," Mal supplied.

"Yes," Simon said. "Faceless, but with disproportionately large hands. And the little boy. He has no hands at all….and no mouth either. Those who subscribe to classic dream interpretation would say that these things are a representation of Adam's feeling of powerlessness to control….something."

"That's just vague enough to be about right," Mal said, no trace of humor in his tone. "And do you subscribe to 'classic interpretation'?"

"Not necessarily," Simon replied. "I think that we've all seen that nightmares and dream imagery is subjective." He sighed. "But, given the details of this picture, and given the indisputable fact that Adam is unable to sleep without disturbance, I don't think we can sit by and do nothing."

"Wasn't aimin' to," Mal growled. "But what exactly do we do?"

Seeing the silent plea in Mal's eyes, Simon had to say something, whether it was valid or not. "I suppose the first thing to do is check him out to see if there is something organic that is causing the problem."

"Thought we did that already," Mal said edgily.

"When he was in before, I did some standard tests. But there are more in-depth things that I can check," Simon replied. "They might not show us anything, but then again, it's a possibility that there is something there I did not see the first time."

"And if you don't find anything?" Mal asked.

Simon inhaled slowly. "Then, we'll have to go a little further. Perhaps take him to a child psychologist of some sort…." His words trailed off.

"I don't relish the thought of handing him over to someone we don't know," Mal said. "Given what he is, being a Reader and…"

"And what?" Simon asked, eyebrow raised in curiosity.

"A doctor we don't know would be sure to ask questions of Adam that might be best left alone, 'bout the nature of what we do, and….his mama. Seems more than likely the doc'll want to have a go at her, if he finds out about Adam's…gifts."

Simon saw all too clearly how torn Mal was about the situation. On the one hand, Simon knew that Mal would move heaven and earth-that-was to secure Adam's well being. And yet, warring with that deep seated drive was the need to protect River's ever-fragile balance. "Let's just take it one step at a time," Simon said gently. "You and River can always make the decision as to how to proceed after we've done the initial exams here."

Mal laid the picture carefully on the counter. "Just as soon River didn't see this picture, if it's all the same to you," he said quietly.

Simon nodded in silent agreement. "I'll get the necessary things gathered tonight, and tomorrow morning, I'll begin the testing."

Knowing there was nothing else to say, Mal walked out of the infirmary like a man much older than he really was.

XXXXXXXXXX

"Daddy's upset," Adam whispered, looking up into his mother's eyes with a sad expression. "Can't tell about you. Built walls."

River held her son closer to her chest. "Knew you'd peek if I didn't."

"You are upset too," Adam said with certainty.

River sighed. "Not upset with you, baby mine. Just concerned. Daddy and I want you to be happy, and when you are troubled, we are troubled. Dong ma?"

Adam nodded solemnly. "I don't want to see the little boy anymore," he whispered. "I want him to go away…forever. The things he sees….they're very, very bad, Mama."

River carefully controlled the stab of panic she felt at his words. "Sometimes when we are frightened," she began slowly. "If we share what frightens us, it doesn't seem so scary. Can you….let me see your dream?"

Adam pulled away from her violently. "No," he said with all the vehemence a six year old could muster.

"Adam, please," River said, reaching out for him again. "It will be all ri…"

Determined not to let her convince him to share the gruesome stuff of his nightmares, Adam twisted from her grip and kicked out, catching her shin with the toe of his sturdy little boot. "I said 'No'," he screamed as he ran down the corridor as fast as his legs could carry him.

River stood rooted to the floor, stunned by her son's abruptly violent behavior. When Mal came into the room some time later, he found her standing in the same spot, shaking like a leaf in a gathering storm.

XXXXXXXXXX

"Remind me why the diyu I transferred to this frozen mudball?" the inspector asked, already chilled to the bone from just the short walk from his hovercraft.

"No doubt to avoid scenes like this," his new assistant said sarcastically. "Didn't work too well, did it?"

The inspector had to agree, given the tableau in front of him. What appeared to be the lower half of a human leg stuck out of the frozen ground at an odd angle. He sighed, rubbing his hands together for what warmth he could generate. "How do we dig it out?"

His assistant smiled sunnily, and the inspector wondered for a moment if the younger man was out of touch with reality. "Johnson should be here in a minute."

"And Johnson can dig through ice?"

"Once he gets the torch up and running," the assistant replied.

"We can't just torch a crime scene," the inspector said, alarmed at the prospect.

"Well, if you don't," the assistant answered merrily. "We'll be seeing what's attached to this leg in about six months, at the earliest. Dong ma?"

"Bring the gorram torch," the inspector replied. As he waited with something less than good grace for the torch to arrive, he surveyed the scene more closely. Thinking that there was something eerily familiar about it, he did a quick mental review of previous cases he'd worked before deciding that any similarities between a murder on St. Albans and a murder in the Core were bound to be nothing more than a sad coincidence. Dismissing the thought, he trudged through the snow back to his hovercraft, where at least there was a decent heater to warm his toes.

XXXXXXXXXX

Pierre awoke and cracked one matted eye open with some difficulty.

"Welcome back," Elizabeth said softly. "I was beginning to worry that you had decided not to wake up."

Pierre smiled and immediately regretted the motion. "Man's gotta sleep when he gets a decent chance," he said.

"Funny, that's what Marcus says too," Elizabeth said saucily, her eyes twinkling with amusement.

"So, doc," Pierre said, thinking it wise to change the subject as he noted the slight blush suddenly dusting Elizabeth's cheeks. "How goes it with the gunk?"

"If by 'gunk' you are referring to my revolutionary acid neutralizing agent, I would have to say tentatively, so far, so good."

Pierre looked at her intently. "You mean it?" he asked, the slight crack in his voice embarrassing him mightily. "It's really working?"

"It seems to be," Elizabeth replied, squeezing his arm lightly. "You've been out for about six hours, and I see no signs of additional acidic activity."

"But six hours isn't…" he began.

"Quite long enough to tell for sure," she finished. "So, I'd like you to stay in the infirmary overnight so that I can check you periodically. Also, I might like to re-apply the 'gunk' one more time for good measure. Think you're up for it?"

Pierre nodded. "I'll do what needs to be done to save face," he deadpanned.

Elizabeth rolled her eyes. "I'll attribute that truly bad pun to the meds talking," she said lightly as she began to re-apply the neutralizing agent gingerly.

XXXXXXXXXX

"Didn't want Mama to see it, is all," Adam said, his face like a storm cloud of discontent.

"I can understand that," Mal replied. "Plenty of things I dream that I don't want Mama to have to see. But there was no cause to kick her, now was there?"

Adam's lip began to tremble, and one fat tear rolled down his cheek. "Don't know why I did that, Daddy," he bawled. "It's just….I'm so….and she was so…" He sputtered to an incoherent stop. They sat for several minutes in silence while Adam reined in his emotions as well as he could. Finally, he shuddered once and said, "So, what're you gonna do?"

Mal made a show of considering the question. "Well," he said, slowly rubbing his chin. "It's a pure truth that little boys got no business kicking their mamas."

Adam nodded miserably.

Mal continued. "But I conjure that maybehaps your Mama would accept a good apology just this once. Assumin' that nothing like that happens again."

"It won't," Adam said earnestly. "I promise."

"Good boy," Mal said. "Now run along and find your Mama."

As Adam hurried to comply, Mal watched his son go with a mixture of tremendous pride and terrible worry. Praying that tomorrow's tests would reveal something that could be treated and reversed, he made his way to the bridge wearily.

XXXXXXXXXX

To be continued


	9. Chapter 9

**Fractured**

**Part VIII**

Authors: just_slummin and Midnight Obsidian

Disclaimer: Don't own 'em. Just playin' in Joss' sandbox.

Rating: PG

Summary: Elizabeth and Pierre decide on a mutually beneficial plan, and Marcus talks to Mal.

XXXXXXXXXX

"It looks wonderful!" Elizabeth said enthusiastically as she pulled off her surgical gloves.

Pierre held the mirror up and squinted at his reflection skeptically. "Wouldn't go so far as to say that," he said, though Elizabeth could detect the slightest hint of satisfaction in his tone.

"And you're certain there's no residual pain?" she asked.

Pierre shook his head. "Much more comfortable than I've been in a long while."

"Which brings me to the next question," Elizabeth replied. "Obviously, the acid has been neutralized sufficiently. So, are you ready for the next step?"

Pierre tore his eyes away from his reflection to look at her directly. "That depends on what exactly the next step is," he answered.

"That's largely up to you. While there is no medical reason for you to continue to wear protective bandages, I notice that you're still wearing your mask." She paused delicately.

"Don't want to go around scaring folk," Pierre said. "Just because the flesh isn't being eaten away every day doesn't mean my face actually looks any better. It's still very…scarred, to say the least."

Elizabeth slid up onto the stool beside the bed. "Well, that's what we need to discuss," she said softly. "I am not one hundred percent sure of what would happen if we tried to graft new skin onto your face. Assuming that the problem of the acid is solved, which I do believe it to be, then there is a real possibility that grafts would be much more effective than they were in the past."

"But?" Pierre asked, seeing the slight line between her eyebrows.

"But, the surgeries would be painful," she answered honestly. "And I have no way to hazard a guess as to their effectiveness."

Pierre sighed, looking again at his scarred visage. "But there's a chance that I could look…normal again?"

Elizabeth frowned. "Perhaps not as you define normal," she said. "Regardless of how far you've come, there will always be a certain amount of scarring. The grafts would have to be done in sections, and there would be, at the very least, scars where the grafts are joined. But, depending on the skill of the surgeon, perhaps those scars would be something you could reasonably live with."

Pierre's eyebrow rose, and Elizabeth thought it was the first time she'd been able to read emotion in his facial movement. "I had assumed you would be the surgeon," he said lightly. "You up to it?"

She nodded. "If you think me capable, I'm more than willing to do it. But, as I said before we started this whole thing, it will take someone else to help, preferably someone with a gifted set of hands."

"What about Simon Tam?" Pierre suggested. "Do you think he would be qualified?"

Elizabeth nodded. "Oh, no doubt about it," she replied. "More than, truth be told."

Pierre smiled and winced slightly at the unaccustomed stretch of skin around his lips. "Could be that Marcus and Mal could come up with something to do while the crews are together, don't you think?"

Elizabeth's eyes narrowed slightly. "Have you and Murdocke been eavesdropping on Marcus and me again?"

Pierre tried to look innocent, which was much harder to do without his mask. "I'm sure I don't know what you mean," he said. After a beat, he added, "Though I think that a wedding presided over by Malcolm Reynolds will be an interesting affair."

Elizabeth put her hands on her hips, trying to project annoyance despite the way her eyes twinkled. "You should be ashamed of yourself, Pierre Devereaux." She grinned. "But, seeing as how you might be in need of Simon's medical expertise, I think it would be a fine thing if we were to meet up with the crew of Serenity. And if a wedding should result in the interest of timeliness and all….well now, that would just be shiny, wouldn't it?"

"It would indeed," Pierre agreed, chuckling at the design of the web that was about to entangle one Marcus Hazzard.

XXXXXXXXXXX

Simon sighed. "There's just nothing there, Mal," he said tiredly.

"You mean to say that after three days of testing, you're coming up empty?" Mal asked, frustration balling his hands into tense fists.

"I'm sorry, Mal. I wish there were something…something organic that could be easily fixed, but there simply isn't," Simon said.

Mal cursed a low string of Mandarin. "So, what's the next step? Some head shrinker on a Core world somewhere?"

"Well, I…." Simon began, only to be interrupted by the buzz of the comm unit.

"Sir, there's a wave from Captain Hazzard for you," Zoe's calm voice filtered through the comm. "Says he needs to talk to you and Simon."

"He or somebody on the Hit or Miss hurt?" Mal asked, puzzling over why Marcus would want to speak with Simon.

"Didn't say," Zoe replied.

"All right, we'll be right up," Mal said. Turning to Simon, he added, "We ain't finished with this discussion yet, doc."

Simon nodded, all too aware of the fact as they made their way to the bridge.

XXXXXXXXXX

"So, what occasions the wave?" Mal asked, slipping into the pilot's chair vacated by Zoe. "Not that I ain't glad to see you, but I thought you were on the other end of the 'verse."

Marcus grinned. "Job went south, like they do, and we headed back toward more civilized worlds, if you know what I mean. How goes it with you?"

Mal considered for a moment telling his young friend about what was happening with Adam, but thought better of it, there being no need to burden the other man with his worries. "Well as can be expected, life I lead," he lied.

"I'm glad to hear it," Marcus said. "Because I need to ask a…a favor of you."

Noticing the slight flush rising to Marcus' cheeks, Mal was intrigued. "Shoot."

"Well, ummm, Pierre's in need of some surgery," Marcus began. "And Elizabeth needs another pair of hands for the job. Says it's too much for one surgeon. So, I was wondering if maybe you and the crew could meet us somewhere for a spell."

Mal's mind whirred with thoughts of what he needed to do for Adam. "Well, this might not be the best time, unless Pierre's condition is serious, that is," he began. His words trailed off as he caught sight of Simon's hand motions in his peripheral vision. "Hold on a minute, Marcus."

"Sure thing," Marcus said heartily, trying to hide his disappointment at Mal's initial response.

Mal turned to Simon. "Bein' as how I ain't conversant in sign language, maybehaps you can just tell me what you're tryin' to say," he said testily.

Simon rolled his eyes, trying to make allowances for Mal's irritability considering extenuating circumstances. "I was just thinking that it might actually be a good thing to join Marcus and his crew. Adam likes them very much, and the whole crew could use a little diversion from the current situation, I think." Seeing Mal wavering slightly, he added the coup de grace. "And as I recall, Elizabeth minored in child psychology at MedAcad. It could be that she could provide some insight into what's happening with Adam."

Mal's eyes lit with sudden hope. "You think?" he asked.

Simon nodded. "And since she already knows about his unique abilities, it would eliminate one of your worries about speaking with a psychologist, wouldn't it?"

Mal turned back to the screen. "Where do you want to meet?" he asked.

Marcus blinked in happy surprise. "How far are you from Greenleaf?"

"Two days, give or take a few hours," Mal replied.

Marcus nodded. "We're three days out. Elizabeth thinks she can pick up the supplies needed on Greenleaf, if that's a good place for you."

"No problem," Mal said. "See you in the world in three days."

"See you then," Marcus said, as Mal cut the transmission.

Swiveling around in his chair, he turned to face Elizabeth. "What?" he asked as innocently as he could.

"I thought you might ask Mal to marry us while you had him," she replied.

Marcus grinned. "Time enough for that when we see him. I didn't want to scare him off, after all." Seeing Elizabeth's look of suspicion, he added, "Besides, I think getting him to agree to marry us is something best done over a bottle of whiskey."

"You're probably right," Elizabeth replied as she slipped her arms around his shoulders and kissed him lightly.

XXXXXXXXXX

The boy was hungry, ravenously so. He lay huddled against the wall of a deserted building, trying to find shelter from the chill of the night. There were lights up ahead, twinkling brightly and luring him in. He rose slowly. His body was unaccountably stiff, and he wondered why that should be.

Pulling his coat closer to him, he saw that the knuckles of his hands were raw as if he'd been in a schoolyard fight. He frowned in confusion as he walked slowly toward the lights in the distance. He tried to remember where he was, but nothing came to him. He shivered again, this time not from the chill of the evening. Almost afraid, he looked back to see where he had come from. He saw nothing there but shadows, and he let out the breath he'd been holding unconsciously.

Turning back toward the lights, he walked steadily for several minutes until he came to what looked like a dock. It was quiet there, and he took a few minutes to look at the pretty ships, his head filled with the thought of daring adventures out in the Black. He ran his hands along the sleek lines of the ships as he passed, looking with wide-eyed wonder at them.

"Hey there, whaddya' think you're doing?" a rough voice called from somewhere up ahead.

The boy squinted his eyes and looked around to find the source of the question. A large man materialized out of the darkness in the boy's path.

"I said, whaddya' think you're doing?" the large man asked, scowling at him. "That's my boat you're handlin', dong ma? Now move along."

When the boy did not move, the man bellowed, "I said 'Move along'."

The boy's vision blurred, and he blinked slowly once. Then, he smiled calmly. "I don't think so, friend," he said, his bruised fingers curling into a fist.

The large man backed away, unaccountably disturbed by what he saw in the eyes of his opponent. He held up one meaty hand. "No offense, man," he said. "Just don't generally take to folks manhandlin' my boat." He took another step back as his opponent stepped forward. "No harm done."

"Not yet," came the soft, calm reply.

XXXXXXXXXX

"What the diyu happened here?" the inspector asked.

"Slice and dice party, from the looks of it," the medical examiner replied, stepping almost daintily over the torso of the corpse.

"Where's the rest of him?" the inspector asked.

The medical examiner made a vague motion with his hands. "Spread out all over the dock," he said. "And not too long ago at that."

The inspector leaned down, taking a closer look at the victim. "We know who he is yet?"

"Uh uh," the medical examiner said. "Due to the…ah…nature of the crime scene, we haven't asked any of the dock workers if they can identify him yet. You wanna do that before we move anything?"

The inspector swallowed back the bile that rose in his throat at the sight of the dismembered corpse. "No, might as well wait until we can clean up the area a bit. No need to make a civilian have to see something like this."

The medical examiner nodded. "S'what I thought too."

XXXXXXXXXX

In his bed aboard Serenity, Adam Reynolds curled himself into a small ball and prayed for morning to come quickly.

XXXXXXXXXX

To be continued


	10. Chapter 10

**Fractured**

**Part IX**

Authors: just_slummin and Midnight Obsidian

Disclaimer: Don't own 'em. Just playin' in Joss' sandbox.

Rating: PG

Summary: One of the inspectors begins to see a pattern, and the crews of Serenity and the Hit or Miss reunite.

XXXXXXXXXX

"Look, I appreciate your concern, Inspector. But you have to admit that your theory is a mite far-fetched," Magistrate Johansen said. "I know you're used to all sorts of exciting cases where you're from, but here on St Albans, we're just ordinary folk, tryin' to get by as best we can."

"All the more reason to believe what I'm telling you," the inspector said insistently. "You saw the scene yourself. Didn't it strike you as odd to find a crime of that nature here on St. Albans?"

Johansen shrugged. "Perhaps, but stranger things have happened. Why, I remember one time…"

"I'm sure whatever you're about to say is infinitely interesting, but let's stick to the subject at hand, shall we?" the inspector asked, unable to hide his irritation one moment longer. "I've seen this before. This pattern at a crime scene. The way the body was dismembered, the way it was laid out in the pit. And the fact that it was a former Independent."

"Hold it right there," Johansen said, raising his hand in protest. "Most everybody on St Albans was an Independent once upon a time. That don't mean a thing, here nor there."

"But look at these printouts," the inspector persisted. "I've been researching cases like this across the 'verse. There are over one hundred cases with similarities to this one. I'm telling you, we have a serial killer here. Someone with a deep-seated hatred for Browncoats."

"And I'm telling you to drop it," Johansen said, leaning forward in his chair until his nose was just inches away from the irate inspector. "In the Core, I imagine you had time to take these little flights of fancy when you had a notion, but here, you don't. You find the guy that did this, and don't be worrying on finding the guys as killed all those others you're holding in your hand. Plain and simple, just like it oughta' be. Dong ma?"

"Yeah, I get it," the inspector said, gathering up his papers to leave.

Johansen called him back just as he reached the door. "S'posing your little hare-brained theory is right," he said snidely. "Just what would you do about it from here?"

The inspector silently counted to twelve before answering his unimaginative superior. "I would at least issue some kind of warning to Browncoats traveling between worlds. Most of the victims were drifters of sorts. It would at least give them a heads-up. Might make them a little more careful when they go dirtside."

Johansen snorted. "More like raise a panic when there ain't cause for one," he said dismissively. "Besides, the old-time Browncoats are too stubborn to pay attention to a little news flash anyhow. Be a waste of time, far's I'm concerned." Seeing the objection forming on the inspector's lips, he added, "And bein' as how I'm the final authority here, that'll be an end to it. Dong ma?"

"Understood," the inspector said curtly as he made his unhappy exit, thinking that the magistrate wouldn't know a smart decision if it came up and bit him in the proverbial pigu.

XXXXXXXXXX

Mal looked down into the general commotion in the cargo bay with a slight smile. Despite the crew's fatigue and worry about Adam's mental health, everyone seemed excited about seeing the crew of the Hit or Miss again.

The other ship was due to arrive on the Greenleaf docks any minute, and Kaylee was doing the best she could with her injured arm to make the place look festive for their guests.

"No cause to go to all that trouble for 'em, little Kaylee," Mal called down from the catwalk. "You know they're all gonna end up in the kitchen, no matter how nice it looks in the bay."

"Maybe so, Cap'n," she replied gaily. "But it's nice all the same to make the place sparkle a mite, ain't it?"

Mal chuckled, puzzling over how it could be that Kaylee could maintain her sunny disposition for so many years now out in the Black. Even Jayne had been ensnared into work on the project, unable to resist the warmth of Kaylee's smile directed at him with full force.

"Never saw so much fuss over such a little thing," the mercenary groused halfway under his breath lest Inara pinch him for his sour mood. "To my way of thinkin', looked fine the way it was."

"To your way of thinking," Inara said lightly. "It would look fine covered with spiderwebs large enough to do high wire acts on, so long as it was not in the way of any of your weapons."

Jayne opened his mouth to answer, but was stopped short by the arrival of Anya and the other children. "They're coming," Anya trilled happily. "We saw them land just now."

Mal scowled. "Y'all been on the bridge again without permission?" he asked.

Anya rolled her eyes. "We're not in the air, you know," she said with the almost-teenage tone she'd taken to using when she found something not to her liking.

"Be that as it may," Mal said, scooping up Hannah from the floor, where she had attached herself to his leg with a strong little arm. "Rules are rules."

"Such a stickler," River murmured into his ear, having floated down the stairs during the exchange. "Who would have thought it?"

Mal grinned. "Ain't exactly in accord with my general demeanor, is it?" he asked. "Bein' a bad man and all."

River laughed, glad to see the humor she'd been sorely missing bubbling back up to the surface of her ai ren. Slipping her arm under his, she turned them both to face the cargo bay doors. Their guests had arrived.

XXXXXXXXXX

Pierre sat on the bridge of the Hit or Miss staring out sightlessly at the people milling about on the docks of Greenleaf. The sounds of the rest of the crew leaving for their rendezvous with Serenity had faded into the background several minutes before, and he was completely alone on the ship. Having told Marcus he was staying behind for a few minutes to secure the Hit or Miss, he got up slowly and walked around the ship, checking everything with a snail's pace until he could not find anything else to keep him from meeting with the others.

He sighed, recognizing his reluctance for what it was. He was afraid, he realized, afraid to go out onto the dock among all those strangers without his mask. Elizabeth had cautioned him that the skin tissue left on his face would be better served mask-free, as it needed more than ever to breathe. For the entire trip to Greenleaf, he had studiously followed her advice, baring his face for the crew to see. Not even Murdocke had said anything about it, for which Pierre was so grateful he could have wept had he been anyone but who he was.

But revealing his disfigurement to the tight little group of people with whom he lived was quite different from revealing his face for all the 'verse to see. He assumed that the adults on Serenity would be able to handle the sight nearly as well as his own crew had, but when he thought about Serenity's children…well, that was another matter entirely. He fingered the smooth surface of his mask, as familiar to him as his own skin. Or rather, more familiar to him than the skin that currently covered his face. He rolled his neck, stretching the muscles he felt tensing with the thought of what he was about to do. Then, taking one deep breath, he dropped the mask onto the table beside him and headed out to face his fear.

XXXXXXXXXX

Mal stepped forward and shook Marcus' hand with his customary firm grip before being grabbed up by the younger man in a bear hug worthy of Bear himself. Stepping back, Mal smiled. "You're looking well," he said. "I take it things are going smooth-like with you and the lady doc."

"Couldn't be better," Marcus said, grinning despite the pink flush rising in his cheeks. "That's one of the reasons I wanted to meet up with you." Mal's eyebrow rose and Marcus added quickly, "But we can talk about that later, over a bottle." He pulled his coat back to reveal a bottle of dark amber liquid in his breast pocket.

"Sounds like a plan," Mal said. Turning toward the others, he saw that everyone was mingling happily, getting reacquainted with old friends. Kaylee was showing Murdocke her injured arm, and Mal could tell that it would be no time at all before she had him in Serenity's engine room, working on whatever she could not do for herself in her current condition. Bear, Jayne , and Jim were conferring over something. Mal did not want to even hazard a guess as to the nature of their conversation. And the women were all in a gaggle around Elizabeth, admiring her ring and questioning her for details about the engagement while the smaller children played underfoot.

Frowning, Mal turned to Marcus. "Looks like you're missing one," he said.

Marcus nodded. "Pierre'll be along in a bit," he said. "Just locking up the Hit or Miss."

"That all?" Mal asked, discerning the hesitation in Marcus' tone.

"That, and screwing up his courage to show up," Marcus admitted. "He's been maskless for the last few days at the recommendation of his doctor. A mite disconcerting, as you can imagine."

Mal nodded. "So I assume the surgery he needs has something to do with his face?"

"Skin grafts, and lots of them," Marcus said quietly. "Hope to hell Simon's hands are steady."

"No doubt about that," Mal said, oddly proud of his medic and brother-in-law. "Best doctor I've ever seen."

"Well, that's refreshing to hear," Simon said, coming to stand beside Mal.

Marcus grinned. "You mean he doesn't tell you that all the time?"

"Hardly," Simon said drily.

"Wouldn't want you to get over-proud," Mal replied. "Like to keep you good and frosty-like."

Simon rolled his eyes in a near-perfect imitation of his baby sister. "I see."

Suddenly, silence fell across the bay and Mal looked up to see Pierre standing in a doorway. For just a moment, everything seemed to stop. And then, Anya rushed forward, grabbing Pierre's hand and dragging him into the cargo bay. "Mr. Pierre," she said warmly. "I was beginning to think you weren't coming."

Pierre looked down into her shining blue eyes, so open and full of life. She smiled, squeezing his hand. "I'm so glad you're finally here," she said.

"So am I," he said softly before being drowned out by the sudden swirl of activity everywhere around them.

XXXXXXXXXX

The monster was angry. Pacing restlessly back and forth aboard his vessel, he relived the altercation at the docks. If only the idiot had left him alone, he thought feverishly. Then he would not have had to do what he had done. Not, of course, that he had minded the actual killing. As always, it was an almost sensual relief to feel the skin slide open under his knife and to hear the satisfying sound of steel scraping against bone. But he did not like the fact that he had been unable to enjoy it fully. After all, the public docks were hardly a place for the artistry he usually achieved with his subjects.

For it was an art, he thought, pausing in his pacing. He told a story with every stroke of his blade, every spatter of blood that landed, every plea that came from the mouths of his subjects. It was performance art of the highest order, a symphony of sight, smell, and sound that soothed the rage that coursed through his veins so relentlessly. And in that symphony, the death of the brute on the docks was a discordant note. Unable to stay long enough to frame his art as he wished, he had left the corpse just lying there. It was unacceptable and practically cried out to be rectified.

But he was not a fool. The body had already been retrieved, already been sanitized and bagged and studied and examined at great length by some lout who did not even appreciate the work he had done, or understand the story it told.

He sat down heavily, thinking about how to solve the problem before the howling in his head reached an unbearable decibel. A thought occurred to him. Running quickly to the bridge of the small ship, he turned on the Cortex link. His fingers, so gifted at death, flew across the console, questing for knowledge of the whereabouts of the remains. Within scant minutes, he sat back, smiling a wolfish smile.

There before him was the answer, elegant in its utter simplicity. The body had been interred onworld. Pulling up a quick map of the area, he found the location easily. He sat back, satisfied for the moment. As soon as night descended, he would finish the piece, framing it as only he could. And then, all would be right in his world until the next time.

XXXXXXXXXX

To be continued


	11. Chapter 11

**Fractured**

**Part X**

Authors: just_slummin and Midnight Obsidian

Disclaimer: Don't own 'em. Just playin' in Joss' sandbox.

Rating: PG

Summary: Marcus asks Mal for a favor, and River and Elizabeth talk about what Adam might need.

XXXXXXXXXX

"So, what're you gonna do about the little fella?" Marcus asked, his words slurring slightly with the effects of the fine whiskey.

Mal took another long swallow, licking the rim of his cup so as not to lose even one drop. "Simon seems to think Elizabeth might be able to help. He said she minored in psyc….psycho….head-shrinkin' for children."

Marcus nodded woozily, paying no attention to the way Mal's tongue was not working quite properly. After all, he knew how things like that could happen. "She's a right wonder," he agreed. "Always learnin' somethin' new 'bout 'er. Don't ever get tired of the learning, either. S'why I'm gonna marry 'er, with your help, o'course."

Mal squinted at Marcus, trying to make sense of what he'd just heard. Finally, he grinned. "Think that's something you got to handle your own self," he said.

Marcus rolled his eyes, which had the unfortunate effect of making the galley spin dizzyingly. "No, Mal, pay attention now. I'm tryin' to ask you to marry me."

"Can't," Mal chortled. "Way I understand it, you're already taken. And I know I am."

Marcus held up the now-empty bottle, examining with as careful an eye as he could manage in his current state. "It's a gorram shame how soused you've gotten with just one of these," he began.

Mal leaned down and collected the other two empty bottles from the galley floor. "Don't think it was just the one," he slurred.

Marcus sighed extravagantly. "No matter," he said. "What I'm tryin' to ask you is if you'll marry the both of us…together….You know, be the offi…..offici….the one who says the words over us. Dong ma?"

Mal frowned for a minute, the words spinning around in his brainpan nonsensically. When finally they stopped their merry-go-round and arranged themselves into something coherent, he said, "You're joking, right?"

"No," Marcus replied, running his fingertips along the rim of his cup. "I'm not joking." Suddenly much more sober than he'd thought himself to be, he added softly, "I wanna get hitched in the Black, Mal. Think it would be kinda' poetical for you to be the one to do it."

Seeing the crease in Mal's brow, he continued. "Already talked to Elizabeth about it, and she was taken with the idea. And it don't have to be anything fancy, mind you. Just the bare bones basics to make it legal-like." He cleared his throat, wishing there was more whiskey in his cup than there was, as his mouth was suddenly dry as the deserts of Bellerophone.

Mal shifted uneasily in his chair, sobering up much more quickly than he would have liked. "Marcus, I'm all manner of honored by the question, but…..I wouldn't even know where to begin with a wedding ceremony."

"Got it all worked out," Marcus said, smiling widely. "Looked it up on the Cortex. Whole thing ain't but a coupla' paragraphs, a few papers to sign, and then it's a done deal. Smooth as spit."

Mal scrubbed his hands across his face. "Nothing's ever as smooth as spit, in my experience."

"What could happen?" Marcus said easily. "We take the Hit or Miss up, break atmo, you read the words, I kiss the bride, and we land right back where we started. Easy peasy."

"Wait a minute," Mal said, seeing a graceful way to duck this particular honor. "I can't marry you on the Hit or Miss. You're the Captain of that boat, not me."

Marcus frowned, annoyed he'd forgotten that little detail.

Seeing the look, Mal added half-heartedly, "So, unless you want to get married on Serenity, I can't do the ceremony." He leaned back with the feeling that he'd just dodged a bullet of sorts.

Marcus sighed. "Got my heart set on doin' it on the Hit or Miss. Not that Serenity isn't a fine boat, but well…you know, the Hit or Miss is…"

"Yours," Mal said, nodding his head. "Believe me, I understand the feeling. Nothing like your own boat, is there?"

Marcus swallowed thickly. "Could be we could still work it out somehow. It would mean a lot to me for you to do this. I know it's asking a lot, but….well….how about I transfer to the papers for the Hit or Miss to you for long enough to do the deed, and then you can transfer them back to me afterward?" He said the words in one long breath, not sure he could go through with the suggestion if he had to think about it for too long.

Mal whistled low in his throat. "Means that much to you, does it?" he asked quietly. "Enough to sign over your home?"

"Well," Marcus replied blandly. "Ain't like it would be permanent-like. I'd be trustin' you to give it back."

Mal grinned. "And if I don't?"

Marcus' index finger tapped lightly on the table. "Then we'd have a real problem."

Mal's laugh filled the galley. "I conjure we would at that," he said. Raising his cup, he said, "I'll do it, so long as you're not expectin' overmuch with the oration."

Marcus clinked his cup against Mal's, relieved that he had agreed to perform the ceremony, but slightly queasy at the thought of signing his ship over to anyone, even if Mal was one of his best friends in the 'verse.

XXXXXXXXXX

"Looks good on you," River whispered, gliding gracefully into Hannah's room.

"What?" Elizabeth asked.

River motioned to the child sprawled across the woman's chest and lap.

Elizabeth smiled, continuing to rock slowly back and forth in River's rocker. "Was just before dozing myself," she admitted. "There's something infinitely peaceful about rocking a child to sleep."

River nodded and sat down on the edge of her daughter's bed. "I can take her now if you want," she offered softly. "She can get rather heavy when she sleeps, much like her father."

"S'alright, I don't mind," Elizabeth replied. "As you can imagine, I don't get much of an opportunity to hold a little one."

"Perhaps that will change when you and Marcus are married."

Elizabeth shrugged slightly, careful not to disturb her sleeping bundle. "Perhaps," she agreed. "That is assuming we actually get married."

"It's a certainty," River stated. "Mal said 'Yes'."

"He did? And all without any bullets being exchanged?" Elizabeth said.

"No bullets involved," River confirmed. "Just bottles consumed."

"Ah," Elizabeth said. "So I assume that my dearest is somewhere around here sleeping it off."

"Not yet, but soon. Still in the galley, looking for something to eat, I think."

The two women sat in silence for a moment, each lost in her own thoughts. Finally, River stirred. "I think it best to put Hannah down for the night before….." She paused.

"Before what?"

River sighed as she took the sleeping child carefully from Elizabeth's arms and laid her in bed. "Before Adam has a nightmare."

Elizabeth frowned. "What makes you think Adam will be having a nightmare?"

River pulled up Hannah's covers and motioned for Elizabeth to step out of the room. Closing the door softly, she said, "Because Adam is having nightmares every night now." Walking back toward the bridge, she filled Elizabeth in on her son's sleep disturbances.

"So, Mal is afraid Adam's channeling disturbing imagery from his dreams and filtering them through the eyes of a six-year-old," Elizabeth said. When River nodded, she continued, "What do you think?"

"I'm not sure," River said, anguish lacing her tone. "Before the Academy, I never had dreams like Adam does. It doesn't seem….right."

"Well, perhaps that's because you were not exposed to anyone with memories like Mal has," Elizabeth suggested. "It could be that Adam just needs some help processing the things he is able to read from everyone." She pondered that idea for a moment. "Not being a Reader, I'm not quite sure how it all works. But, it would seem to me that one would have to develop some sort of….filtering mechanism to deal with it."

River nodded. "Normally, Adam seems quite adept at maintaining his barriers, but this….well, for some reason he can't seem to block these particular images. And Simon thinks that…." She drew a deep, shuddering breath. "….that he might need to talk with someone."

"You mean a psychologist?" Elizabeth asked, slightly shocked at the idea given what she knew about their circumstances.

River turned sad eyes to look at her. "He said….that you might be able to help."

"I'll do anything I can, of course," Elizabeth said. "But it's been a long time since I worked with children. I'm not sure I can be of any real use."

"Please," River said earnestly. "If you could just talk to him, maybe…" Her words trailed off.

"Of course I will," Elizabeth said, her own heart twisting painfully at the obvious distress of the other woman.

XXXXXXXXXX

"Shouldn't you be in bed by now?" Pierre asked, looking up as Anya entered the common area of Serenity.

"Probably," Anya replied, smiling. "But Mama and Jim are still playing Tall Card with the others, and I thought it might be nice to see what you were doing."

Pierre shifted uncomfortably under her gaze, feeling altogether too naked without his mask. "Just sitting here, thinking."

"'Bout what?"

"This and that," he said blandly.

"About the surgery tomorrow," she said with certainty.

"Yes," he admitted.

"It'll be fine, you know," she said, flopping down on the couch beside him.

Choosing not to mention the pain of the recovery process nor the very real possibility that it would not be gorram fine at all, he said, "You're sure of that, are you?"

She squeezed his hand encouragingly. "Of course," she said. "Dr. Simon is very good at what he does, and Dr. Striker seems to be too." She let go of his hand and clasped her hands in her lap. "And besides, you're here with us now, and we'll all look after you."

"I appreciate the thought," Pierre said. "But I don't think there will be all that much to do."

"Don't be silly," she said. "You'll need your pillows fluffed, and you'll need your meals brought to you, and…."

Pierre held up his hand, smiling slightly. "All right, all right, I get it. Thank you."

Anya looked at him appraisingly. "You have a very nice smile," she said. "I couldn't tell before because of the mask. But it's…really nice."

Pierre wondered how it was that this child could tug on his heart strings so. "Thank you," he said. "So do you."

Anya blushed. "Jared says so too," she said. "But he's always saying things like that. Captain Mal says he's just buttering me up, and that I should watch out for him."

Pierre raised one eyebrow, stretching the scarred skin white. "And who exactly is Jared?"

It was Anya's turn to fidget. "Oh, just a boy," she said, trying unsuccessfully to appear unconcerned by the topic.

"And where is this boy?" Pierre asked, equal parts relieved that she had someone else to focus her attention on romantically and a little sad that she was growing up.

She sighed. "On Osiris," she said. "S'why I never get to see him. We don't travel to the Core worlds all that much."

"I see," Pierre said. "So, you stay in touch by waves then?"

"When we can," she answered. "Mama limits the time I can spend on waves. Says there's more important things to be done than talking all the time."

"Yes, your mother can be quite….terse," Pierre agreed, smiling again.

Anya sighed, greatly put upon by the adults running her world. "Anyway," she said, rising to leave. "I just wanted to talk to you for a few minutes. Didn't want you to be lonely the night before surgery."

Pierre inclined his head. "Thank you, Anya."

"You're welcome," she said. Then very quickly, before he could stop her, she leaned down and placed a soft kiss on his cheek. "Night."

"Good night," he said hoarsely. And for a long while after she left, he sat motionless, amazed that he could be so moved by the feel of a young girl's gentle kiss on skin too long starved for human touch.

XXXXXXXXXX

To be continued


	12. Chapter 12

**Fractured**

**Part XI**

Authors: just_slummin and Midnight Obsidian

Disclaimer: Don't own 'em. Just playin' in Joss' sandbox.

Rating: PG

Summary: Pierre's surgery commences, and Mal gets a new ship.

XXXXXXXXXX

"I'm impressed," Simon said, looking at the gleaming equipment in Elizabeth's infirmary. "You've added so much since I was here last. I can't imagine Mal springing for one of these." He ran his hands along the panel of the tissue regenerator.

"It helps your infirmary budget considerably if you sleep with the Captain," Elizabeth said, smiling.

"Don't think I want one of these that badly," Simon replied dryly.

Elizabeth laughed. "Actually, I got that one at a bargain basement price on Persephone. An old colleague of mine was closing his practice, and he was gracious enough to deeply discount his price when I explained why I would need such a thing."

Simon nodded and glanced around. "So, you've been growing your own grafting material right here."

"Yes," Elizabeth said. "I needed quite a bit of it, as you can imagine, when I was experimenting with the neutralizing agent. And now, of course, I have need of it for the surgery."

"May I?" Simon asked, lifting the cover from the container where the tissue was housed.

There was silence for several seconds as he inspected the quality of the material. Elizabeth found, unaccountably, that she was holding her breath.

"Looks good," he said, much to her relief.

"Then I think we're ready," Elizabeth said, moving to the comm unit to call Pierre to the infirmary.

XXXXXXXXXX

Marcus shifted uncomfortably on his feet, watching the Greenleaf official gather the forms required to transfer ownership of the Hit or Miss to Mal.

"You can still back out, you know," Mal said smoothly from beside him.

"No, no, don't wanna back out," Marcus said quickly. "Just feels a little….squicky to sign her over, doesn't it?."

Mal grinned. "I don't know what you mean," he said. "Feels just all kinds of shiny to me."

Marcus glowered at his friend for a moment. "You're having altogether too much fun with this, I'm thinking."

Mal laughed merrily. "Maybehaps," he admitted. "But if you could just see your face…"

Marcus sighed. Turning back to the official, he said, "You 'bout done with the forms?"

The woman peered up at him over the rim of her glasses. "There is quite a bit of paperwork involved in transferring ownership of a vessel, Mr. Hazzard. I'm working as quickly as possible. Perhaps if you'd like to come back in an hour or so…"

"No," Marcus said quickly, as he had the vague suspicion that if he walked away now he would not be able to force himself to come back to finish this particular job. "We'll wait."

"Then, may I suggest that you sit over there?" she said, pointing a long, boney finger at a grouping of lumpy chairs in the corner of the office.

"Fine," he said, turning on his heel and walking to the chairs like a man on his way to the gallows.

"Cheer up, Marcus," Mal said, falling in behind him. "Could be worse. Least you can get it all done today."

The official raised her head sharply, and called out, "Sir, that is not quite correct. There is a minimum two-week waiting period for the transfer to be finalized. I'm merely filling out the paperwork required here. The Regional Office will have to rubber stamp it, so to speak."

"Since when does it have to be approved by more than one office?" Marcus growled, spinning back around to glare at the woman.

"Since the new provisional government was set up," she replied frostily. "There was a concern in the early days after the second war that unruly folk might coerce law-abiding citizens into transferring ownership of any private vessels for use offword to them. Piracy of sorts, you know."

Seeing a small vein beginning to pulse in Marcus' temple, Mal stepped in quickly. "Isn't there any way to speed up the process?" He smiled his most charming smile.

The woman pursed her lips. "No, there is not," she said flatly. "The laws are there to protect folks, and there's nothing that can be done to flout them."

"Two weeks," Marcus muttered, sitting down heavily in the first lumpy chair he came to. "Two gorram weeks."

"S'alright," Mal replied by way of commiseration. "Least that gives the womenfolk time to get all their sundries in order for the wedding."

Somehow, that thought did nothing to cheer Marcus. "Yeah," he said half-heartedly. This day was just getting better and better by the gorram minute.

XXXXXXXXXX

Murdocke slithered out from under Serenity's engine and rolled to his feet in a motion made seamless by years of practice. "Looks to me like the best thing to do is dismantle the whole thing and rewire all the main systems. With a little tweaking, you might be able to boost your fuel efficiency as well."

Kaylee's brow wrinkled. "I'd love to dismantle the whole thing, but we're never dirtside long enough to get it done. So, I have to work on her piecemeal. A little here, a little there." She gestured with her uninjured arm.

Murdocke frowned. "Can't you just tell Captain Reynolds it needs doing?"

"Well," Kaylee said hesitantly, not wanting to speak ill of her Captain. "Most times he's more of the let's-wait-and-see-what-falls-off sorta Captain."

"Gotcha," Murdocke said. He sighed. "Well, that being the case, maybe I can at least help you for a little while. How about we start with the emissions control module?"

Kaylee nodded happily, pleased to have someone to help since she was still one-handed. As she bent to reach for her tools, she heard Mal's voice.

"You in here, Kaylee?" he called out, peeking around the doorway.

"Right here," she said, straightening up so that he could see her.

"Looks like we're gonna be on Greenleaf for a couple of weeks," he said. "Any thing you need in the way of parts whilst we're here?"

"I'll get a list together," she said, glowing with excitement. "She's been needing a good overhaul for awhile now, and…"

Mal held up his hand. "Hold on there, little Kaylee. Just 'cause we're gonna be grounded don't mean we got all manner of cashy money to play with."

"Won't take a lot of money," she hastened to assure him. "But Murdocke agrees with me that we need to dismantle the primary….."

"Never mind with the details," Mal said, grinning at her obvious enthusiasm. "Wouldn't understand them anyway. Whatever needs doing, can it be done in two weeks?"

Murdocke poked his head out from under the engine, causing Mal to jump. "If I help, it can," he said.

Mal nodded. "Then have at it," he said, turning on his heel to leave. He could hear Kaylee's squeal of delight from halfway down the corridor.

XXXXXXXXXX

Elizabeth looked up at Simon with a question in her eyes. He nodded. "Looks as good to me as it can at this point," he said.

"I concur," Elizabeth replied, applying the last thin line of dermabond to Pierre's face. She sighed, slowly straightening her aching back. "I remember when it didn't bother me to operate for hours on end with no relief."

Simon pulled down his surgical mask, revealing his smile. "Me too," he said. Turning to check the medication drip in the IV, he made a small adjustment, while Elizabeth applied a transparent layer of antiseptic ointment to Pierre's face. "He'll be out of it for a couple of hours more, at least," Simon said. "Why don't you get some rest, and I'll stay with him. After all, once I'm gone, you'll be the one with all the responsibility of his care."

She smiled gratefully. "I think I'll take you up on that. But if he shows any sign of coming out of it before I get back, you call me. Dong ma?"

"Understood," Simon nodded.

Elizabeth lingered for a moment longer, looking at Pierre's face critically. "You think it will take?" she asked again, her worry for her patient apparent in every line of her body.

"You've given him the best chance possible," Simon said, touching her arm lightly. "Now go, before I change my mind."

Elizabeth could not resist the urge to check the monitors before leaving. Once satisfied, she turned to Simon with a sheepish grin. "Okay, okay, I'm going now." And patting Pierre's hand one more time, she left the infirmary and headed to her cabin.

XXXXXXXXXX

Though the ship was dirtside, Adam still found his father on Serenity's bridge. "What're you doing up, little fella'?" Mal asked, smiling. "Seems to me it's getting on to be about naptime."

"Already took mine," Adam said, coming to stand beside Mal.

"And did you have a good one?" Mal asked, drawing Adam into the circle of his arms.

"No." Adam turned to glare out Serenity's transparency, obviously upset by the question. "Never have good ones anymore," he went on. He sighed. "Daddy, we have to leave here real soon."

"Why?" Mal asked, a shiver of foreboding running down his spine.

"It isn't safe," Adam replied.

"Why isn't it safe?" Mal asked quietly, projecting as much calm as he could to his Reader child.

"Something bad is coming," Adam whispered. He turned to look at Mal, his eyes feverish and slightly wild-looking. "Something…..evil."

Mal tamped down his growing anxiety. "Adam, what exactly do you see?"

"I see you, Daddy," Adam said, wrenching himself away from Mal's grasp with a surprisingly strong tug. "It's….it wants you." A single tear fell down his cheek.

Mal wiped it away with the pad of his thumb. "Now look here, Adam," he said firmly. "I'm here. And you're here with me, and we have our whole family all around us. Right?"

Adam nodded.

"So no worryin' about us, dong ma?" Mal asked.

Adam nodded, because he knew his father expected him to. But deep in his heart, he also knew that for just this once, his father might be dead wrong.

XXXXXXXXXX

To be continued


	13. Chapter 13

**Fractured**

**Part XII**

Authors: just_slummin and Midnight Obsidian

Disclaimer: Don't own 'em. Just playin' in Joss' sandbox.

Rating: PG

Summary: Marcus asks a favor of Pierre, and Elizabeth talks to Adam.

XXXXXXXXXX

"I'll leave you two alone," Simon said. "As long as you promise to stop him from touching his face. He has a bad habit of wanting to fiddle with it."

Pierre rolled his eyes at Marcus. "Do you suppose the bossy manner is something they learn at MedAcad? Because I seem to notice that the good doc here and Elizabeth both have it in spades."

Marcus chuckled, while Simon tugged his vest down with a little more force than was absolutely necessary. "Don't worry, doc. I'll make sure he behaves."

"Good luck with that," Simon murmured, though he couldn't quite contain his smile as he left the infirmary.

Marcus pulled a stool to the side of Pierre's bed. "Looks good," he said.

Pierre fought the urge to lightly touch the tender new skin across one side of his face. "Think it'll take?"

"So far, so good," Marcus replied. "Elizabeth informs me that within the next two days, they ought to be able to do some work on the other side, if things go as smoothly as they have so far."

Pierre nodded. "S'what she told me too."

"You up for it?"

"Of course," Pierre replied. "Can't walk around with half a face, I'm thinking."

Marcus nodded, glad that Pierre had come to a point of being able to talk about the sensitive topic more easily. "So, when you get all prettified, what're you gonna do?"

Pierre grinned. "It staggers the imagination what I might do."

"So I conjured," Marcus said, grinning. "Before you get started though, I'd like to ask a favor of you."

"Shoot."

"I'd like you to stand with me at the wedding," Marcus said seriously. "Be my best man."

Pierre blinked slowly, momentarily overcome by the proposition. "I don't know, Marcus," he said hesitanty.

Marcus scowled. "Whaddya mean you don't know?"

"Well," Pierre said reluctantly, brushing his fingertips along the line separating the healthy grafted skin from the scarred skin before Marcus could stop him. "What if something goes….amiss with the operations?"

"I don't think you're in any danger of dying, Pierre," Marcus said dryly.

Pierre snorted. "I mean the captures," he said. "I would imagine Elizabeth will be wanting captures of the day. Women seem to set a store by things like that. And if something should go wrong with the grafts,…..well, let's just say that we wouldn't want that recorded for posterity."

"Haven't you known me long enough to know that I don't give a good gorram what you look like?" Marcus asked. "Worst comes to worst, you could wear the black mask. Since it's gonna be formal and all." He grinned.

Pierre smiled in return. "If you insist," he said. "Though I may not be quite up to performing all my duties as best man."

"Such as?"

"Well, there's the little matter of a bachelor party, I believe," he replied.

"Oh no," Marcus said, shaking his head for emphasis. "Not interested in one of those. Sounds to me like a recipe for disaster."

Pierre laughed aloud. "When did you get to be such a prude? 'Cause I seem to remember a time when…"

"Never mind what you remember," Marcus laughed. "And to answer the question, maybe I got to be a prude about the same time I realized I'm about to marry a woman who knows exactly what to do with a scalpel."

"Point taken," Pierre said merrily.

XXXXXXXXXX

"May I sit here?" Elizabeth asked, pointing to the chair beside Adam.

He shrugged. "Sure."

"Thank you," she said, sitting down. "What're you working on?"

Adam looked up from his drawing. "I know why you're here," he said solemnly.

"And why is that?" Elizabeth asked calmly.

"'Cause everybody thinks there's somethin' wrong with me," he said mournfully. "You know, like I'm…." His voice dropped to a low murmur. "Crazy, or some such."

Elizabeth smiled gently. "I don't believe anyone thinks you're 'crazy', sweetie."

"Sure they do," he said, a hint of anger flashing in his blue eyes. ""S'why they wanted you to talk to me."

Elizabeth made a mental note to control her thoughts, as dealing with a Reader for a patient might be more complicated than she had originally guessed. "Your family is worried, Adam," she confirmed. "But not because they think you are crazy. They asked me to talk with you because I have a little experience with talking to children who have things that are bothering them. Dong ma?"

"Yes," he said reluctantly.

She sat quietly for a moment, hoping that he would volunteer to speak. Finally, realizing that was not likely to happen, she continued, "I understand that you are having some bad dreams. Is that right?"

He nodded, his lips clamped into a firm line.

"Sometimes…." she began.

"It helps to talk about them with somebody," he finished for her, exasperation evident in every syllable. He frowned. "That's what everybody says. Only it doesn't help one little bit. No matter how many times I talk to Mama and Daddy about it, it's the same every night. So, there's no use in talkin' about a thing if it can't be fixed."

Thinking that the boy sounded very much like his father, Elizabeth nodded. "I can see why it might seem that way, sweetie, but talking is the only way to get to the bottom of things. You see, our minds are like a mystery, and sometimes our dreams are like clues to what is going on in a part of our minds called the sub-conscious. That's the part that handles things we see and hear and think without our even being aware of it. And when our sub-conscious is dealing with a tricky problem, then what we dream can point the way to a solution, if we just work it through."

Adam sat motionless, thinking about what she'd said for a long time. Elizabeth waited, knowing that forcing a conversation with the child would not help matters if he was resistant to the idea. Finally, he drew in a deep breath and looked at her intently. "If I tell you about the dreams, about the boy I see, do you think you can help me stop having them?"

"I hope so," she said honestly. "I think it's worth a try, don't you?"

She watched the play of emotion across his young face. "Maybehaps," he said. And drawing another deep breath, he started to talk.

XXXXXXXXXX

"You got that list?" Mal asked, peering around the doorway of the engine room.

"Got it," Kaylee sang out from somewhere under the engine.

Mal stepped in and looked around in disbelief. "What in the sphincter of hell have you done with my engine?" he asked.

Kaylee stood up a little awkwardly, compensating for her injured arm. "Ain't it shiny, Cap'n?" she said, grinning widely.

"You're tellin' me this is a good thing?" Mal groused. "'Cause from where I'm standin', it looks like space monkeys again. Evil ones…with hammers."

Kaylee laughed. "No space monkeys, less'n you count Murdocke as one."

"I heard that," Murdocke called out from under the engine.

Mal gave Kaylee his best Captainy frown. "You sure she'll be put back in one piece in two weeks?"

Kaylee smiled at him sweetly and handed him the list. "Long's you find all these parts, she'll be ready when you are, Cap'n. You'll see. Work's goin' slick as spit."

"You'd best be right," Mal said, pocketing the list. "Hate to have to find a new mechanic now, all things considered."

Kaylee snorted and crawled back under the engine happily, hearing Mal's low mutterings trailing down the corridor.

XXXXXXXXXX

The boy was jolted awake by the sound of an agonized scream. His eyes popped open despite his best intentions to keep them squeezed shut. Having learned from bitter experience that no good came from such sounds, he wanted desperately to avoid seeing the origin of them. But, as always happened, he was drawn inexorably to the scene.

He uncurled his body and stood up, swaying slightly. He realized that he was on the ship again, the one the monster called home, the one where terrible things happened. He began to tremble.

The scream stopped abruptly, and the resulting silence was somehow more terrifying than the noise had been.

"Don't just stand there, boy," he heard the cruel voice hiss. "Go and see."

The boy shook his head. "N..n..no," he whispered.

"Go and see," he heard again. "Now, boy, before I come and drag you there myself."

The threat made the boy's legs move quickly. "All right," he said, his voice trembling. "I'm going."

He moved unsteadily, still unaccustomed to the motion of the ship beneath him. He did not stop to wonder how he knew which way to go, anxious only to find his destination without further prompting. He stood for a moment in front of the heavy metal door. His fingers, icy cold with fear, reached out to unhook the latch. He fumbled for a moment and then pulled the door open and stood on the threshold.

"Go in," the voice hissed. "Now."

He stepped inside the room, his nose wrinkling with the coppery smell of fresh blood and the nauseating scent of fear. He closed his eyes.

"Look at it." The voice was almost guttural.

The boy whimpered. "No. Please. Don't make me."

"Look at it," the voice bellowed, the vibration of it ringing in the boy's ears and causing his heart to race in fear.

He opened his eyes and saw the work of the monster. The body lay in a sea of blood and its own waste, the final indignity of a tortured soul. Limbs twisted at unnatural angles reminded the boy of a macabre version of one of his stringed puppets haphazardly thrown into a corner of his toy chest.

He swallowed back the bile that rose in his throat and backed away.

"Go ahead. Touch it," the voice commanded.

The boy thought that his heart would burst from his chest with its wild beating against his rib cage. He hesitated.

"You heard me," the voice said. "Touch it."

The boy leaned forward, determined not to step any closer than necessary to the mangled thing. He reached out a trembling hand, meaning only to brush against it just enough to obey the monster's command. Overbalanced, he pitched forward, landing solidly atop the body.

To his horror, he saw one of its eyes open slightly. Seeing the faintest flicker of life there, he tried to pull away quickly. The cracked lips moved, terrifying him even more. "P…p…please," the thing croaked.

The boy screamed and his world went black to the sound of the monster's maniacal laughter.

XXXXXXXXXX

To be continued


	14. Chapter 14

**Fractured**

**Part XIII**

Authors: just_slummin and Midnight Obsidian

Disclaimer: Don't own 'em. Just playin' in Joss' sandbox.

Rating: PG

Summary: River and Elizabeth discuss Adam's mental state, and the monster makes an appearance.

XXXXXXXXXX

River looked up from the rim of her cup anxiously. "How did it go?" she asked.

"You didn't eavesdrop?" Elizabeth asked, one eyebrow cocked in surprise.

River shook her head. "He's getting old enough to notice when I do," she admitted. "Otherwise, I would have."

Elizabeth nodded and reached for the steaming kettle. "You mind?"

"Please, go ahead," River said.

Elizabeth poured herself a cup of tea and offered River a refill, which the younger woman refused. Slowly, she stirred the steaming brew. "The good news is that I don't believe Adam is suffering from psychosis of any sort," she said deliberately. "The bad news is that, barring that, I am at a loss as to why he is having such disturbing dreams. I would think that it would have to be one of two things. First, and most likely, he is becoming old enough to realize the dangers of the life you lead in a more real sense than before. That, combined with his natural intellectual ability, might explain why he can so vividly picture horrible scenarios and interject himself into them as the boy in his dreams." She took a delicate sip of the scalding liquid. "But there's something about that explanation that doesn't quite….ring true for me."

"You said 'one of two things'?" River prompted.

Elizabeth looked at her solemnly. "The other possibility is that Adam, being a Reader, is seeing someone else's dreams entirely."

"The boy's," River said.

"Perhaps," Elizabeth replied. "Assuming that the boy is real, and not a dream alter-ego of Adam himself." She took another sip of tea. "But, if that is the case, why aren't you picking up on the same images? I am, of course, no expert on the abilities of Readers, but if the boy is real and is projecting strongly enough that Adam can sense it, why can't you as well?"

River frowned, her mind contemplating and discarding theories at a dizzying rate. "I'm not certain," she said finally. "Sometimes, I get the sense that there is something….evil, for lack of a more precise term. Just a glimpse of it, and then it is gone. But that sense seems, at least to some degree, to coincide with Adam's more vivid nightmares."

"But, until now, you've discarded that correlation because…?" Elizabeth asked.

"I thought it was possibly just a reaction to anxiety about Adam's dreams," River admitted. "Reading is not an exact science, as I'm always telling Mal."

"I would imagine not," Elizabeth said softly.

River sighed. "If the boy is real, and Adam is picking up on what the boy dreams, how can we stop it?"

"Short of finding the other boy and sending him to therapy, I don't know," Elizabeth admitted with a slight frown. "Unless there is some way to block what Adam can sense." She looked up at River hopefully.

River shook her head sadly. "Not with any degree of success."

"Well, that being the case, the most we can do is keep talking with him, helping him work through the disturbing images until we can come up with something better," Elizabeth said. When River nodded, she walked to the sink and rinsed her cup. "In the meantime, I have something I need to discuss with Captain Reynolds on a completely different topic."

River smiled. "The wedding," she said with certainty.

Elizabeth nodded, relieved for the moment to be on a more positive topic. "I know Marcus has given Mal a brief sketch of what he would like said during the ceremony. But there are a few things I'd like to add, things that I hope will make Marcus happy."

River cocked her head to the side for a moment, unabashedly reading Elizabeth's thoughts. "Your ai ren already knows those things," she said finally.

Elizabeth blushed, slightly disconcerted to have been read so effortlessly. "That may be true, but I'd like to include them nonetheless."

River smiled. "Because of his romantical nature, I suppose." She grinned. "Mal might be awhile. He went shopping for Kaylee's engine parts, and he's not the most gifted mechanic's helper."

Elizabeth glanced at the chronometer and frowned. "I'm not sure I can wait. Marcus will be expecting me back before long. And I need to check on Pierre in a couple of hours. Perhaps if you could point me in the right direction, I could meet him and we could talk as he looks through the parts. I won't delay him too badly."

"And then Captain Hazzard won't need to know about your talk," River devined.

"Well, there is that," Elizabeth said, grinning.

XXXXXXXXXX

Anya breezed into the infirmary of the Hit or Miss like a breath of fresh air.

"Come to fluff my pillows, did you?" Pierre asked lightly, his eyes twinkling with amusement.

"That, and to play Tall Card," she said, tossing him a deck of cards and rolling a cart to his bedside.

"You know how to play Tall Card?" he asked in surprise.

"Well, not yet," she admitted. "But now's a good time to learn."

Sensing he was heading into a trap, Pierre asked, "I take it your mother has not taught you to play?"

Anya picked up the cards and shuffled them carefully. "Well, not exactly."

Pierre grinned, capitulating easily in the face of her optimism. Taking the cards gently from her hands, he shuffled easily. "First thing you have to learn is how to shuffle correctly."

She watched raptly, and within scant minutes had mastered the skill. Dealing the cards, Pierre began to teach her hand by hand how to play the game. After several hands, she looked up at the chronometer and made a face. "I'd better get back home," she said sorrowfully. "Mama will be missing me."

"Give your mother my regards," Pierre said, a little shocked by how much he dreaded her departure. "But don't tell her about the game. Dong ma?"

Anya grinned impishly. "Are you afraid of my mother, Mr. Pierre?"

"Any man in his right mind would be," he replied smoothly.

Anya giggled. "Suppose you're right," she said merrily, gathering up her deck of cards and stuffing them in her skirt pocket. "I won't tell. Wouldn't want her to come and ruin all Dr. Simon's pretty work."

"Me neither," Pierre agreed.

XXXXXXXXXX

The monster wandered restlessly down the streets of Greenleaf, the voices in his head clamoring for attention. He had thought that once the last of his masterpieces was completed, the voices would quiet for a time, as they usually did. Then he could sleep, and dream. But he was beginning to notice a pattern to their insistence. For each life he took, the voices hungered for more. And the more their hunger was fed, the more quickly they wished to feed again.

He watched the people of the city pass by, blissfully unaware of his eyes following them feverishly. He saw nothing he wanted and his frustration grew with every moment that passed. He could scarcely contain a low snarl of discontent.

And then he saw the couple. He squinted, trying to bring them into better focus. A tall man, lean and muscular, walking beside a small woman, whose head barely came up to his shoulders. The woman was pretty, he thought randomly, but that mattered not at all to him. It was the man who held his attention. Or rather, it was the man's attire that drew him in like a magnet. A long, leather duster in a distinctive shade of brown. The monster smiled.

Walking well behind the pair, he watched them closely, his mind calculating variables quickly. The Browncoat stopped walking abruptly and turned to look down at the woman, affording the monster an unobstructed view of his profile.

Excitement raced through the monster's veins as he recognized the face of his prey. This was the moment he'd dreamed of, the moment for which he had waited his entire life. For this face, above all others in the monster's mind, was the face of his enemy. The face that stared defiantly at him in his most prized capture from Serenity Valley, the face of Sgt. Malcolm Reynolds.

He fought to maintain a natural demeanor, knowing as he did that to reveal himself openly would put his quarry on alert. He watched the two people talking, laughing and smiling at each other as if the 'verse stretched out in front of them for the taking. The monster knew differently, of course, but he would wait a moment longer, watching for the opportunity which would inevitably be afforded him.

Reynolds nodded at the woman and the two walked forward again. Coming to an uneven spot in their path, the woman took Reynolds' proffered arm and smiled up at him. They continued to walk along at a leisurely pace. The monster followed at a discreet distance, waiting.

XXXXXXXXXX

"I appreciate your willingness to change the speech a little," Elizabeth said, smiling up at her companion. "And I appreciate you agreeing to do the ceremony in the first place. I wasn't at all sure you would."

"S'not my usual thing," Mal said easily. "But Marcus asked so nicely, and then there's my new boat to consider…"

Elizabeth grinned. "I can hardly imagine that he would sign the Hit or Miss over to anyone for me."

"Must be love," Mal said. His lips smiled, but Elizabeth noticed a tightening of the muscles under her hand.

"What's the matter?" she asked quietly.

"Don't turn around," Mal replied just as quietly. "But I think we've got some company behind us a ways."

Elizabeth immediately removed her hand, freeing his gun arm in the process. "Why would anyone be following us?"

Mal sighed. "That's a good question," he replied blandly. "Seems to me there's always somebody following us, keepin' things from goin' smooth."

"What are we going to do?" she asked.

"Just keep walking," Mal answered. "And if anything goes pear-shaped here in the next few minutes, run."

Elizabeth glanced at him uncertainly. "And just leave you?" she asked.

"Less you're hiding a grenade in your blouse, I conjure runnin's the way to go," he said wryly.

"Excuse me, sir," a pleasant voice called out from behind them. Mal's hand hovered near his gun. "Sir, excuse me. Can I talk with you for a minute?"

Mal slowed and turned to face the young man, making sure that he stood between Elizabeth and the stranger. "What can I do for you?" he asked, his voice betraying nothing of his frame of mind.

"A lot, if you're who I think you are," the young man said enthusiastically. "Are you, by chance, Malcolm Reynolds?"

"Who's asking?" Mal replied.

The young man fairly bounced on his toes. "Mr. Reynolds, I've been a student of your war record for longer than I can remember," he gushed. "I mean, you are one of the most famous Independents to fight in either war. I'm just….I'm just overwhelmed to be here with you. I mean, to actually be right here…where you're standing."

Elizabeth snickered just loudly enough for Mal to hear her. "I think you've got yourself a genuine fan," she whispered.

The young man slipped his hand into his coat pocket, and Mal's gun went up immediately. "Easy there, friend," Mal said calmly.

The young man's eyes widened innocently and he withdrew his hand from his pocket slowly, revealing a pen. "I'm sorry, Mr. Reynolds," he stammered. "I didn't mean to startle you. I should have known that a man like you would have to be more than a little cautious with a stranger." He smiled disingenuously. "One never knows what kind of psychos are out there on the loose. I would imagine you've met your share of them."

Mal nodded, easing his gun back down into his holster smoothly as he watched the young man intently.

"I just …." The young man said, slowly reaching into his pocket again and withdrawing a note pad. "I just was wondering if I might have your autograph."

Mal snorted, genuinely surprised at the notion that anyone would want his signature on anything other than a packing slip or the odd bail bond receipt for one or all of the crew.

"Please?" the young man asked, holding out the pad and pen eagerly.

Reluctantly, Mal reached out for the pen. "Don't know why you'd want…" he began before he felt a slight prick against his finger. Suddenly the world began to spin dizzily. "Why you'd want…" he tried again. Abruptly his knees buckled, and he fell hard onto the uneven pavement.

"Mal?" Elizabeth said, dropping to her knees to see what the problem was. "Mal, can you hear me?"

"I don't imagine so," the young man said calmly.

Elizabeth looked up at him quickly. "What did you…."

The young man's boot connected solidly with her left temple and Elizabeth slumped limply over the unconscious Mal in an untidy heap.

XXXXXXXXXX

To be continued


	15. Chapter 15

**Fractured**

**Part XIV**

Authors: just_slummin and Midnight Obsidian

Disclaimer: Don't own 'em. Just playin' in Joss' sandbox.

Rating: R

Summary: Marcus and River realize that something is wrong, and Elizabeth and Mal come face to face with the monster.

XXXXXXXXXX

Marcus looked up at the chronometer for what seemed to him to be the hundredth time. Elizabeth was overdue, and he was beginning to get anxious.

"She's probably just talking to Inara or something," Bear said, tired of watching his Captain pacing the length of the galley. "You know, wedding plans and whatnot."

"Probably so," Marcus replied. "But it's just not like her to be so late. I think I might walk down to Serenity and see what's keeping her."

"Could just as easily wave," Bear said.

Marcus shook his head. "Don't want to get everyone in a dither over what's probably nothing. Best I just walk over there and see for myself."

Bear nodded calmly, knowing full well that Marcus was resistant to the idea of waving Serenity to avoid looking overly concerned when it turned out to be nothing more than Elizabeth forgetting the time. "Take a comm unit, in case she comes back here and you miss her on the way."

Marcus grabbed a comm unit and his coat. "Look after my ship whilst I'm gone," he called over his shoulder.

"Not your ship now, or so I've been told," Bear called out after him, grinning at the low string of Mandarin that floated back to him from Marcus.

XXXXXXXXXX

"Tell me," River said, barely resisting the urge to grab Adam by the shoulders and shake the mental image out of him.

Tears fell down the boy's face. "It's happening," he sobbed. "Just like in the dream. It's going to happen."

"River?" Simon said, his voice deceptively calm in the maelstrom of emotion around him.

"He's right," River said. She shivered, her mental equilibrium seriously compromised. "Something's gone wrong." Willing herself to focus, she pulled the crying child into her arms. "Adam," she said as calmly as she could manage. "What do you see?"

"Nothing now," Adam wailed. "Nothing….it's too…dark." Trying valiantly to articulate something that could not really be verbalized, he drew a deep shuddering breath. "But I know the things from the dreams….they're about to happen." He looked up at River with genuine panic. "We gotta stop it, Mama. Daddy….." He faltered, too horrified by the thought of what he knew to finish the sentence aloud.

Zoe gripped the side of the table with whitened knuckles as she watched the scene. "River, are you sure this isn't another nightmare?" she asked quietly. "Could be that Mal is still out talking with the doc, couldn't it?"

River shook her head. "Can't hear him any more," she said brokenly, setting Adam off on another wave of crying.

"All right," Zoe said, having seen and heard enough. "Jim, Jayne, get comm units and meet me in the cargo bay. We'll split up and search the area."

Jayne nodded, relieved to have something to do other than watch Adam's anguish. The child's nightmares had long since filled Jayne with an uncomfortableness, and now the mercenary was afraid that they had been much more than the product of vague, half-formed monsters conjured by an imaginative boy. No good could come from standing around whilst the Readers on board destroyed his calm, to his way of thinking. Quickly stopping by his arsenal, he retrieved Vera and a couple of grenades, just in case.

XXXXXXXXXX

Elizabeth swam up to the surface of consciousness slowly, the relentless pounding of her pulse in her ears making the task more difficult than it should have been. She tried to open her eyes, but there seemed to be something wrong with one of them. A soft moan escaped her dry lips. As if from a great distance, she remembered fragments of things that made no sense. Mal slumping to the ground at her feet, the young man's seemingly innocent smile, the feel of a boot connecting solidly against the side of her face.

Thinking that the last image would handily explain the pain in her head and her inability to open one eye, she slowly opened the other one. Somehow, she had hoped to see her own infirmary ceiling above her, or perhaps Simon's. But it was readily apparent that she had not been so lucky.

She shifted, setting off a dizzying wave of nausea. The doctor part of her brain diagnosed a moderately severe concussion at best. The woman part looked around hopefully for some sign of where she might be. Nothing she saw inspired a great deal of optimism. It was dark, and she thought randomly that if she had the use of both eyes, perhaps she could distinguish things more clearly. But one thing was abundantly certain. She was in trouble. "Captain Reynolds?" she called out softly. She waited for a moment, straining to hear anything encouraging. "Mal?" she said a little more loudly. She was met only with silence.

XXXXXXXXXX

Marcus arrived at Serenity as Zoe, Jim, and Jayne were disembarking. Seeing their grim expressions, he felt a surge of panic. "What's happened?" he asked without preamble.

"Captain's gone missing," Zoe replied evenly. "We're going to look for him now." She looked at him intently. "How did you know to come?"

"Didn't," Marcus said. "I was just coming to get Elizabeth."

"She ain't here," Zoe replied, slipping an extra gun into the waistband of her pants.

"She was apparently with Mal," Jim volunteered, seeing Marcus' puzzled expression.

Clicking into emergency mode swiftly, Marcus asked, "How long have they been gone?"

"Coupla hours longer than they should have been," Zoe answered. "Figure we'll start lookin' near the parts yard. That's the only place I know for sure they were gonna be. Me and Jim'll take the south and west sides, you and Jayne can take the north and east."

Knowing there was no further need to talk about it, the four set out for the parts depot, each worried as to what exactly they might find.

XXXXXXXXXX

Elizabeth awoke again to the same darkness and oppressive silence. She realized with a growing sense of panic that she was drifting in and out of consciousness. Deliberately pushing aside her natural tendency to self-diagnose her condition, she focused instead on her surroundings.

"Mal?" she called again.

"I'm sorry. He's not available right now." The voice came from somewhere near her feet.

Elizabeth jumped, startled. Instinctively trying to draw away from the origin of the eerie voice, she found that she was bound in some way.

The chains at her ankles rattled mockingly in the hands of her captor. "Nowhere to run," he sang softly. "Nowhere to hide."

"Who are you?" Elizabeth asked, her voice sounding much smaller than she'd intended. "And what have you done with Captain Reynolds?"

She heard the flick of a switch and winced in the sudden blinding glare of the overhead lights. "You mean the Browncoat?" the young man asked, shrugging his shoulders dismissively. "I didn't do anything with him." He smiled, revealing a row of small white teeth. "He's Robert's toy, not mine. I prefer…other amusements."

As he leaned closer to her, Elizabeth's hands curled uselessly into fists and she tugged against the shackles that bound her wrists to the wall behind her. She glanced around quickly and saw Mal similarly immobilized against the wall opposite hers, obviously still unconscious.

"What did you give him? What kind of drug was in the pen?" she persisted.

The young man's jaw tightened. "I didn't give him anything," he said impatiently through clenched teeth. "I told you, it was all Robert's doing."

"But I saw you hand him the pen, and then he just…dropped."

The young man's hand shot out faster than she could have imagined, and he slapped her sharply, rocking her head back and bringing unexpected tears to her eyes. His face relaxed into another smile, as if he'd not just done any violence at all. "I expect you to pay attention when I speak," he said softly. "What happens to the Browncoat is of no concern. Dong ma?"

Elizabeth bit her lip and kept her silence, watching him warily. "Now this is a real pity," he said, prodding the swollen area around her eye until she hissed with pain. "Very unsightly." He laughed at his own pun.

His hand trailed further down, toying with the buttons on her blouse. Bile rose in Elizabeth's throat and she suppressed a shudder, discerning that any reaction would only serve to heighten his sadistic pleasure at her expense. He moved deliberately, pinning her body under his greater weight.

Unable to stay still a moment longer, Elizabeth bucked against him, struggling with all her might to throw him off balance and away from her. But she could only move slightly in any direction, held fast by the imprisoning chains.

"Be still," he hissed as his hands bit into her shoulders cruelly. He shook her like a rag doll, rattling her chains and banging her head punishingly against the cold metal floor.

She cried out, white sunbursts of light blooming behind her eyelids with each blow. The more she writhed beneath him, the more oppressive his weight atop her became. Cold sweat dripped into the dip of her spine and her arms and legs began to tremble from the exertion.

The man wrapped a merciless hand around her throat and squeezed. Suddenly oxygen-deprived, her muscles failed her after a few minutes and she went abruptly limp as every thought centered on simply drawing breath.

His grip eased slightly and she gulped air into her tortured lungs, coughing violently. Her chest burned and her throat throbbed. He removed his hand and for just a moment, she experienced the euphoria of oxygen-rich relief.

The moment was short-lived however. His weight shifted again, and she was able to move feebly. His eyes seemed aglow with malicious intent and cold fear coursed through her veins at the sight. She concentrated on breathing deeply, sending blessed oxygen to her leaden limbs.

His rough hand slid under her skirt and up her thighs. "NO!" she hissed between clenched teeth as she tried to squirm away from him.

"You're in no position to tell me no," he said as calmly as if he were discussing the weather. He ripped away her skirt, leaving nothing but a thin slip between her and the cold floor. The buttons of her blouse rattled over the metal flooring and in a moment, her blouse hung in tatters across her shoulders. "So pretty," he murmured, pinning her again with his body. "So soft."

Elizabeth put her last bit of strength into heaving upward, trying valiantly to stop what was happening. One large hand closed around her throat again and the other pawed at her cruelly. The man forced her knees apart with his own, and she let out a strangled cry.

"Get off her, you son of a whore," Mal bellowed from across the room.

The man froze for a long moment. Elizabeth saw him blink slowly just once before his head lowered. His hold on her loosened almost imperceptibly and she used the brief reprieve to draw her knees back together.

He shuddered as if electrocuted. She looked up into his eyes and had the strange feeling that she was staring at someone who had not been there just a moment before. There was no lust for her body in the eyes which stared back at her so coldly. What those eyes revealed was something that she sensed would be much worse.

He released his hold on her and rose to his feet slowly. "What did you say to me, Sgt. Reynolds?" he growled, snarling the title.

"I said, 'Get away from her'," Mal replied in a low, deadly tone.

Grabbing a knife from somewhere under his shirt, the man rushed toward Mal with an unearthly howl of fury. Elizabeth screamed, realizing that they were apparently now at the mercy of the monster known as Robert.

XXXXXXXXXX

To be continued


	16. Chapter 16

**Fractured**

**Part XV**

Authors: just_slummin and Midnight Obsidian

Disclaimer: Don't own 'em. Just playin' in Joss' sandbox.

Rating: R

Summary: As the others search for them, Mal and Elizabeth deal with their issues.

XXXXXXXXXX

"Haven't seen 'im for a few hours," the old man said, spitting into the dust beside Zoe's boot. "Said he was going to come back for the load 'fore dark. Walked off with some little woman. Blonde, kinda' curvaceous. Seemed happy enough to see her."

Zoe sighed, trying hard not to throttle the man. "Did you see which way they went?"

The old man scratched his head, taking his time about the remembering. "Seems like they mighta' headed north, toward town."

Zoe turned on her heel to leave. "Hey, wait a minute," the old man whined. "What about all these here parts?"

Jim paused just long enough to arrange delivery of the parts to Serenity. Pulling credits from his pocket, he saw that Zoe was already long gone.

XXXXXXXXXX

Elizabeth jerked frantically against the chains, unheeding of the damage she was doing to her wrists in the process. "Stop, please stop," she pleaded. "You're killing him."

The monster turned to her with a cold smile. "Not yet, I'm not," he growled, twisting the knife mercilessly into the meaty part of Mal's shoulder.

Mal's answering moan sent a wave of nausea through Elizabeth. "What good does this accomplish?" she asked. "Why would you do this?"

"He knows why," Robert growled, withdrawing the knife and plunging it down again ruthlessly.

"Can't say as I do," Mal gasped out through clenched teeth.

Robert turned quickly, grabbing Mal's coat from the floor and shoving it into his victim's face. "This give you a clue?" he asked, spittle landing on Mal's cheek.

"You makin' a fashion statement?" Mal ground out.

Robert howled in rage, grabbing Mal by the throat. "You will NOT make a mockery of this," he screamed, unhinged. Releasing Mal's neck, he wielded his knife once again.

Elizabeth looked around frantically, trying to find something…anything to stop the madness. But there was nothing she could see that would help them. She blinked back tears of fear and frustration and closed her eyes to the sound of Mal's screams.

XXXXXXXXXX

"Looks like whatever happened musta' happened right here," Jayne said, staring intently at the dirt in the alleyway.

Marcus looked as well, reading the story in the tracks around them. He frowned. "Looks like whoever got them dropped them both pretty gorram quick. "

"And then dragged at least one of 'em that way," Jayne said, pointing to the end of the alley. "Looks like the heels of Mal's boots."

Marcus closed his eyes for a moment, picturing some unknown assailant picking Elizabeth up and carrying her somewhere. A pulse beat wildly in his temple. Following the faint trace of Mal's boot heels, they came to the end of the alley.

"Musta' been unconscious," Jayne said. "Less the hundan had a hover waitin' here already, he woulda' had to leave them to go get it."

Marcus nodded, seeing the telltale ripples of a hovercraft in the sand. "Can't imagine Mal would walk into an alley that was blocked at the other end by a hover," he said.

Jayne nodded, looking at their surroundings closely. Bending down, he retrieved a piece of paper blown against the side of the building. He unfolded it and looked at it grimly. "That the lady doc's handwriting?" he asked.

Marcus took the paper with trembling hands. He read for a moment and realized why Elizabeth had been talking to Mal secretly. There, in her precise handwriting, was a rough draft of her wedding vows. Blinking back the sudden tears that threatened to fall, he tightened his jaw. "Yeah," he confirmed for Jayne, offering no other explanation. "It's hers."

Jayne grunted. "Then we got a problem," he said grimly. "No way to trace a hover, best as I know." Pulling out his comm unit, he called Zoe with the news.

XXXXXXXXXXX

"Your wrists are bleedin'," Mal slurred, squinting at Elizabeth in the darkness.

"What?" she asked incredulously. "I'm bleeding? Is that all you can say after what he did to you? That I'm bleeding?"

Mal smiled crookedly. "Well, maybehaps I'm bleeding too….a little."

Elizabeth swallowed shakily. "I can't tell, but I think that so far your wounds are…not life-threatening."

Mal nodded, wincing with the movement. "Conjure he just wants to play for awhile, like a dog with a bone."

"A rabid dog," Elizabeth said, her shiver making her chains rattle.

Mal peered at her carefully in the dark. "Does seem a mite…unhinged, doesn't he?" he asked lightly.

"More than a 'mite'," Elizabeth replied in a small voice. "And he's going to come back. What are we going to…?"

Mal realized that he did not know Elizabeth well enough to distract her from the seriousness of their current predicament. "We'll work it through. Something will give, sooner or later." He paused. "Sooner would be better than later."

"You think?" Elizabeth said sarcastically.

Mal forced a smile onto his battered face. "Am I annoying you, Dr. Striker?"

"Hasn't exactly been one of my best days ever," she replied shakily, realizing that Mal was, in his strange way, trying to cheer her up. She swallowed thickly. "I wanted to thank you, Captain Reynolds, for stopping him from…hurting me," she said solemnly.

"Didn't want to have to explain to Marcus what happened," Mal said, smiling. "Could be bad for my health." He paused. "And bein' as how we've been incarcerated together, I'm thinkin' you can just call me Mal."

Elizabeth forced a slight smile. "Done," she said. "Are you…in a lot of pain?"

"S'pose I've had worse done to me," Mal said quietly. "You?"

"Had worse done to me? Heavens, no," Elizabeth replied.

"No, I meant, did he hurt you?" Mal asked. "Other than that impressive shiner, that is."

"I'm all right," she answered. There was silence for a moment as she contemplated the slim odds of staying that way. "Is it my imagination, or is the floor vibrating?" she finally asked.

"We're moving," Mal confirmed. "Have been since I woke up the first time. I conjure that's why he left when he did. Can't keep a ship on autopilot for too long around a busy port like Greenleaf. Must have had to make course corrections and such."

Elizabeth mulled over that possibility for a few minutes. "So, assuming we were out for at least a couple of hours, we could be quite some distance from Marc…from Greenleaf."

"Maybehaps," Mal said gently. "I conjure our folks are lookin' for us by now." He decided not to add the difficulty that would be involved in finding them, considering the circumstances.

But Elizabeth knew that all too well without being reminded. What help there would be, they would have to make themselves, she realized. "So," she said slowly. "What is your impression of our captor?"

"He's got a real fixation with knives," Mal remarked. "And brown coats."

Elizabeth nodded. "And apparently, he suffers from some kind of dissociation disorder."

"Come again?"

"He seems….fractured, for lack of a better description," she said. "When he was…attacking me, he was…different than the man we met on the street. And then, when you told him to leave me alone, he….changed again. Something in his eyes….even in the way he held himself…almost like a different person altogether. I remember studying about the phenomenon at MedAcad. It's very rare, but cases of it have been documented as far back as Earth-That-Was. They used to call it Multiple Personality Disorder, as I recall."

Mal frowned. "Sounds crazy to me."

"Psychotic, in point of fact," Elizabeth said, sounding so much like Simon for a moment that Mal wondered if they taught just that tone in MedAcad.

Elizabeth went on. "The one called Robert seems to be the most dangerous of his personalities. And the most dominant."

"So, it's like several people walking around in one body?" Mal asked, a note of disbelief in his tone.

"You could say that."

"Well, whoever the hell he is when he comes back, we need a plan, and a gorram good one," Mal said.

Elizabeth nodded in agreement.

XXXXXXXXXX

Everyone except Pierre was gathered around Serenity's table. "You're sure?" Marcus asked tightly.

"They're on a ship," River said with certainty. "Can feel the vibration under him."

"That's just shiny," Jayne said, disgusted with their lack of progress. "Bein' as how we're at one of the busiest ports this side of the 'verse, that really narrows it down."

"Jayne." Zoe's tone was a clear warning.

"He's right," Jim said. "Hard to figure where to start looking if we don't know who has them and where he or she is headed."

River cocked her head to the side, focusing inwardly on the slender thread that told her Mal was alive. "Small ship, maybe privately owned," she said. When everyone looked at her in amazement, she added, "Just an impression."

"No offense, River," Marcus said raggedly. "But we need something more than an impression."

"She's working on it," Kaylee said, placing her uninjured arm protectively around her sister-in-law. "Aren't you, sweetie?"

"In the meantime," Marcus said. "Best we get in the air. I understand that Serenity is grounded until those parts are installed. So, the Hit or Miss it is. Any objections?" No one spoke. "Good," Marcus said. "Now, if we can just figure a general heading."

Adam tugged at his pants leg. "The boy might know," he said seriously.

"The boy?" Marcus asked.

River looked at her son intently. "Can you see what the boy sees?" she asked. "Right now?"

"No," Adam admitted sadly. "But soon….it's almost bed-time. And that's when I see him…mostly."

Murdocke frowned. "And we're sure there's a connection between this dream kid and the kidnapping, how?"

"Takes too much time to explain," Zoe said shortly. "Just go with it, 'less of course you've got a better suggestion."

Murdocke held up his hands. "I was just asking."

"Well, don't," Marcus said, his nerves stretched to the breaking point. "Boat leaves in fifteen minutes. Any questions?"

He was greeted with absolute silence, for once.

XXXXXXXXXX

To be continued


	17. Chapter 17

**Fractured**

**Part XVI**

Authors: just_slummin and Midnight Obsidian

Disclaimer: Don't own 'em. Just playin' in Joss' sandbox.

Rating: PG

Summary: Mal ponders the situation, and Elizabeth meets yet another personality of their captor.

XXXXXXXXXX

Mal shifted slightly and instantly regretted the movement. "Robert" had been very busy for a long stretch of time, and Mal was beginning to think that the only thing that saved his life in the last little session had been the blaring of the proximity alert. With a howl of rage, his tormentor had torn himself away from his grisly task and left him in semi-darkness.

He turned his head and looked at his fellow prisoner. Her skin was blanched white as snow but for the deep purple bruising around her temple and the mottled handprints at the base of her throat. "You all right?" he asked.

Elizabeth nodded jerkily and Mal realized that she was most probably in shock. "Elizabeth," he said more firmly, mustering up strength from somewhere deep down. "Answer me."

"Yes," she breathed out quietly. "I'm all right. Cold, scared spitless, thirsty from screaming, but all right."

"Not hungry?" Mal asked wryly.

"Not likely to be hungry ever again," she replied glumly.

Mal smiled slightly. "Sounds about right," he said. He paused for a moment. "About the screamin', might be a good idea to hold back on that if you can." Elizabeth looked at him dully. He cleared his throat and went on. "So far, this Robert fella doesn't seem interested in you so much. I'm thinkin' that we wanna keep it that way long as we can. No need for both of us to get…." His words trailed off, realizing that to end the sentence with the word "corpsified" would not be exactly the way to aid Elizabeth's emotional state overmuch.

"I'll try to be quiet," Elizabeth replied in a small voice. She did not add that it was more than a little difficult to watch quietly as the monster tortured the Captain. She closed her eyes tiredly, but still the images of what had happened in the last session were seared onto her eyelids.

Satisfied that for the moment she was all right, Mal took an inventory of his own injuries. He wiggled his hands slightly, trying to see if any of his fingers were still unbroken. The answer was swift and painful. No luck there. When his head stopped spinning from that little experiment, he moved his right leg slightly. Badly bruised, but not broken, he thought with a small degree of satisfaction. Apparently Robert was much more skilled with a knife than a sledgehammer. One out of two legs was not so bad, he thought. Of course, the small voice in his back brain added wryly, it wasn't so good either. Assuming that somehow he and Elizabeth could unshackle themselves from the gorram walls, he could hardly fight the hundan off with useless hands and one leg. Not to mention that he was feeling a mite weakened by blood loss, having long ago lost count of the stab wounds the psycho had inflicted. Though nothing major had been hit just yet, he conjured that, cumulatively speaking, he was running low on essential bodily fluids. Any which way he looked at it, things were not going well.

XXXXXXXXXX

River sat beside Adam's bed in the cabin aboard the Hit or Miss, for the first time praying that her son would have another nightmare. She could feel Mal only faintly now, a passing shadow barely discernible amidst the anxiety she felt both from herself and everyone else aboard. She drew her knees to her chest and wrapped her arms around them, trying to hold on to the slender thread for as long as possible.

Beside her, Adam began to twitch restlessly in his sleep.

XXXXXXXXXX

Simon stepped onto the bridge and scowled at his patient. "You know you shouldn't be up," he said. "You're barely off the more aggressive of the pain meds. That is hardly the recipe for responsible piloting of a ship this size."

Pierre shrugged. "I'm perfectly capable of flying the Hit or Miss with one eye closed and one hand tied behind my back, Doctor. A little pain medication is unlikely to affect my skills that drastically." He paused for a moment. "Besides, Marcus needed the rest. He's…well, let's just say he's dealing with something he's never dealt with before."

Simon nodded unhappily. "Can I at least check my work?" he asked.

Pierre leaned back. "As long as it can be done quickly," he said. "I'm scanning for any small ships in the area. Don't want to miss one while you have a look."

"I'll be quick," Simon replied, donning a pair of gloves and gently probing Pierre's incision sites. Satisfied that the tissue looked healthy, he removed the gloves and slipped them into his pocket. "Everything looks good. How do you feel?"

"Physically? All right," Pierre said. "Emotionally…like I need to do something to get my own doctor back on board, no offense to you, of course."

"None taken," Simon said dryly. "As I happen to agree. Apart from the fact that she is a good friend of mine and that she happens to be with my also missing brother-in-law and Captain, we need her back here right away for your next surgery."

"That doesn't matter. I think we can worry about that when they're back safe," Pierre said a little gruffly.

Simon said nothing, though he knew that Pierre was well aware that to wait longer than a day or two for the next surgery would likely mean that the scarring around the edges of the grafts would be more pronounced than it would be if the surgeries could be completed as he and Elizabeth had planned. With that unspoken knowledge hanging between them like a lead weight, the two men stared out at the Black, hoping for a sign as to where their friends might be.

XXXXXXXXXX

Marcus tossed in his bed, unable to sleep despite his exhaustion. He closed his eyes, willing himself to breathe deeply and calmly. That way lay madness, he thought, as he inhaled the scent of Elizabeth's shampoo on his pillow. He grabbed the pillow close and swung his long legs out of bed. Turning on the light, he reached for the scrap of paper Jayne had found in the alleyway. Knowing it would be like picking at an open wound, he read his lover's note anyway, though he'd memorized the words already.

Anger, hot and liquid, boiled through his veins as he thought of what might be happening to Elizabeth and Mal even now. He remembered the picture Adam had drawn, the one that revealed so vividly what the boy in the dreams had seen. And Marcus did something he had not done for longer than he cared to admit. He dropped to his knees and prayed.

XXXXXXXXXX

Thinking that at least it was a good thing that Mal had found some relief in sleep, Elizabeth curled up as best she could in her chains and tried to do the same. Their captor's appearances in their prison were haphazard at best, and she prayed that perhaps he would be gone for longer this time. Every minute he stayed away was a minute that Marcus might be able to find them, she thought with as much optimism as she could muster.

No sooner had the thought entered her head than the door swung open slowly. Elizabeth pulled her aching body up with difficulty. Knowing as she did that there was no way to tell which personality would be walking through the door, she did not intend to be caught lying down when her tormentor entered the room. He appeared in the doorway, backlit by the light in the corridor. She watched him warily, trying to discern which man she was seeing.

He stood there for a nerve-stretchingly long time, hesitating on the threshold. Elizabeth glanced quickly at Mal and saw that he still slept. Turning her attention back to the doorway, she watched as the man entered the room slowly, almost as if he were sleep-walking. She breathed deeply, trying to control the pounding of her heart.

He knelt beside her, his eyes wide with what looked incongruously like genuine fear. He swallowed nervously and held his hands tightly together in his lap.

Elizabeth studied his face carefully. Her mind whirred with the possibilities of who or what he might be at this moment. Certainly not Robert, she thought with more than a small amount of relief. And not the other one either, the one who had come so perilously close to raping her before Mal had intervened. This one was different, surely. But what that difference would mean to her was painfully unclear.

She realized that she was holding her breath. Perhaps that could account for the ringing in her ears, she thought with a touch of hysteria. Exhaling slowly, she tried to maintain at least an outward veneer of calm.

"You're pretty," he said abruptly, making Elizabeth jump. "'Cept for the big bruise and all." His voice sounded much more high-pitched than the one she had come to dread hearing.

She swallowed thickly. "Thank you," she answered.

He nodded, a boyish grin blooming across his face. "I like ladies with yellow hair," he volunteered.

"Do you?" Elizabeth said carefully.

"Uh huh," he said softly. "My neighbor, Ms. Sandidge, has yellow hair, and she's real pretty."

"And where does Ms. Sandidge live?" Elizabeth asked, trying to glean what information she could from this talkative personality.

"Right next door to my house," he said, abandoning his crouching position to sit cross-legged beside her.

"And where do you live?"

"Persephone," he said easily. He looked at her intently. "What's your name?"

"My name is Elizabeth." She paused for a moment, wondering about the advisability of asking his. Deciding there was nothing to do but try to find out, she asked. "What's yours?"

"Bobbie," he said, grinning.

"And how old are you, Bobbie?"

He held up one hand and the index finger of his other hand. "Six," he said proudly. "Gonna be seven in a coupla months."

"Bobbie," she said carefully, praying that she was not about to do something irreparably stupid. "Do you know where we are?"

Bobbie frowned, confusion flitting across his face. "On a ship, right now," he said slowly.

"Do you know where we're going?" she asked.

He thought for a moment and then grinned. "Going to see Daddy, I think," he said.

"Oh, that sounds nice," Elizabeth said, smiling encouragingly. "And where exactly is your daddy?"

Bobbie bit his lip for a moment, thinking. "A place on Hera," he said. "Daddy's a soldier. He told me there's this really important place called Serenity Valley, and he's there right now. I can't wait to see him." He stopped talking abruptly, and Elizabeth held her breath, wondering if Robert was about to make an appearance. The man frowned. "I got a lot to tell 'im when I see 'im. He's been gone a long time."

"What things do you have to tell him?" Elizabeth asked softly.

Bobbie shrugged, clearly not happy with the turn of the conversation. "Just things," he whispered.

"Bobbie," she said, changing the subject quickly. "I need you to do something for me please."

"What?" he asked.

"My wrists are hurting," she said, inclining her head toward the shackles. "I think they would feel much better if I could rub them, don't you?"

Bobbie bit his lip thoughtfully. "Maybe," he admitted reluctantly.

"Maybe you could find a key for me, so that my wrists wouldn't hurt so badly," she suggested gently. "Please."

He began to shake his head from side to side. "I don't think I can do that," he whispered, his eyes suddenly as wide as saucers.

Elizabeth swallowed thickly, aware she was playing with fire. "I'm sure you can, if you try," she said.

"I don't know where the keys are," he said. "And I don't think he would like me to, anyways."

"Who?" Elizabeth asked.

Bobbie sighed. "I don't know his name. Only he's mean. And he's….he's the one that brought me here, the one that hurt your head too. And I'm just a little boy, and he's really big…and scary."

"I know," Elizabeth said soothingly. "I think he's scary too. But Bobbie, you have to help me, please. If you don't help me," she paused for effect. "Well, I'm afraid that if you don't help us, he's going to hurt us even more. And then, I might not be able to talk with you anymore. And I like talking with you very much."

Bobbie stared at her for a long moment, his longing for someone nice to talk to warring with his instinct for self-preservation. "I can't help the Browncoat over there," he said finally. "That would be very bad."

"But you could help me, couldn't you?" she said, smiling gently. "Maybe the key is in your pocket. I know I find things in my pocket that I didn't know I had all the time."

He frowned, but his hand went into his pocket obediently. He drew out the key, a surprised expression on his face. "How did that get in there?" he asked in something akin to wonderment.

"I'm not sure, but I'm so proud of you for finding it," she praised. Rattling her chains lightly, she said, "Now if you'll just put the key in this little hole…" She looked up, indicating the chain around her right hand. Bobbie rose to comply. "What a good boy you are," she said encouragingly, her heart near to bursting with the thought of freedom.

He froze, his hand at the lock. Looking down at her, he blinked slowly. An ugly sneer curled his lip and his eyes turned black with sudden fury. "How dare you, you little pofu," he roared.

Elizabeth drew back as far as she could from Robert, but unfortunately it was nowhere near far enough.

XXXXXXXXXX

To be continued


	18. Chapter 18

**Fractured**

**Part XVII**

Authors: just_slummin and Midnight Obsidian

Disclaimer: Don't own 'em. Just playin' in Joss' sandbox.

Rating: PG

Summary: Adam dreams, and Mal and Elizabeth work on a plan.

XXXXXXXXXX

Adam's scream reverberated in the little cabin, and before River could wake her son gently Marcus was already in the doorway. "What did he see?" he asked, slightly out of breath from running.

River glared at him for a moment. "He's not even completely awake yet."

"Yes, I am," Adam said shakily. "And I saw him…the little boy. And he's on a ship." He looked up at Marcus with wide, blue eyes. "Just like Mama said."

"Go on," Marcus said, resisting the urge to shake the information from him just barely. There was no need to take his frustration out on the poor child, he reminded himself.

Adam closed his eyes, focusing all his ability into remembering precise details. "Daddy was there, but I could only see him a little. The boy was looking at Miss Elizabeth."

Marcus heard his pulse beating in his ears. "Was she…..alive?" he ground out.

Adam nodded. "Uh huh, the boy was talking to her. About….."

"Serenity Valley," River said simultaneously with her son. Looking up at Marcus with dawning comprehension, she said, "That's where he's taking them."

"Who is he?" Marcus asked.

"Don't know," Adam said, frustration lacing his tone. "Just…the monster. The little boy was there, talking with her and then, he wasn't there anymore. Just…..disappeared."

"And Elizabeth? And M..your father?" Marcus asked, holding on to the doorframe tightly enough he thought it might splinter in his hand.

Adam looked at his mother, tears beginning to stream down his face. "I don't know. When the monster came, I woke up."

River pulled Adam into her arms and cradled him gently to her. "You did well, baby mine. Now we know where they're headed. And we can find them." Looking over Adam's head at Marcus, she mouthed the word, "Hurry."

Not needing to be told twice, Marcus was nearly halfway to the bridge before River could blink.

XXXXXXXXXX

"You still with me?" Mal asked, hoarse from screaming at the hundan to leave Elizabeth alone.

Elizabeth coughed feebly. "Think so," she rasped. Slowly, she tried to uncurl her body from the fetal position she'd adopted to defend herself as much as possible from Robert's blows. She was finding it difficult to breathe, and she wondered fleetingly if the blood she tasted was from a cut somewhere in her mouth or a much worse internal injury. Not that it mattered much, she supposed, all things considered.

"That was a real shiny try at getting us out," Mal said. "Almost had it there for a minute."

"I didn't know you were listening," Elizabeth said with some difficulty. "Thought you were asleep until he started…until Robert showed up."

"I woke up whilst you were talking to the little boy one," Mal said. "And I'm thinkin' that's the little boy Adam's been dreaming about. You think?"

"Probably," Elizabeth said quietly. "If it is, that's good news for Adam. Means I was right about his mental health. Not such good news for us, though." She couldn't help but think of the all too vivid picture Adam had drawn.

Mal was silent, unable to dispute the flatly stated observation. He listened for a time to the rasping of her breathing. "Listen," he said, carefully choosing his words. "When we get to Hera, most likely Robert'll be focused in on me. You see a chance to run while…." He gulped. "….while it's happenin', you take it. Dong ma?"

"I understand," Elizabeth said, more by way of reassuring him than anything else. She had no intention of leaving him alone to die. His strange sense of nobility reminded her too much of Marcus for her to ever do that. At the thought of Marcus, a small sob escaped her lips despite her best efforts to prevent it.

"Elizabeth?" Mal said softly.

"It's all right," she said, pulling herself together with great effort. "I was just…just thinking of Marcus." She took as deep a breath as she could manage. "There are things I wanted to tell him."

"Yeah, I seem to recall a whole list of them," Mal replied in an effort to make her smile.

"I should have given the list to him instead of you, I think," she said miserably.

"Doesn't need a list. He knows, whether you write it down or not," Mal replied gently. He sighed. "Besides, you can tell him whatever you want when you see him."

Elizabeth nodded. "I don't know how to pilot a ship like this," she said.

Mal frowned at the seemingly random thought. "Come again?"

"Suppose that I could get us out of these shackles," she said slowly, mulling over the possibilities. "You're in no shape to fly the ship. If I'm not mistaken, I heard your right arm break in that last melee."

"You ain't wrong," Mal confirmed thinly.

"So, I would need to be able to somewhat overpower our host, pilot the ship, and land safely somewhere."

"First things first," Mal said. "You got a way to get us unhooked from these chains? 'Cause I don't think little Bobbie's coming back to chat any time soon."

"Maybe," Elizabeth said, sharp pain taking her breath away as she tried to shift slightly. "While Robert was educating me in the finer points of being beaten to a bloody pulp, he was apparently not paying sufficient attention to his pockets. This fell out." She gingerly produced the pen from behind her. "Think I can pick the lock without activating whatever device inside the pen knocked you unconscious on the street?"

Mal grinned lopsidedly because of his swollen lip, thinking that the lady doctor might just be a big damn hero after all. "Best gorram shot we got," he said. "You know anything about picking locks?"

"A little," she admitted. Mal raised an eyebrow. "Used to forget my keys a lot back at MedAcad," she explained. "And I am a surgeon, after all."

"Glad to hear it," Mal said, as she twisted her hand to begin working on the first lock.

XXXXXXXXXX

"Breathing over my shoulder won't get us there any faster," Pierre said calmly.

Marcus took a reluctant step back. "You sure we can't shave any time off somehow? What Adam saw…well…we just need to get there ma shong."

Pierre looked at his friend compassionately, knowing there was really nothing to say to ease the man's anxiety. "I'll talk to Murdocke. Maybe boost the burn ratios a bit, but it's gonna be a day before we can get there, best case scenario."

A day was a gorram long time to be in the hands of a madman, Marcus thought grimly but did not say aloud. "Any sign of a ship ahead?"

"Not yet," Pierre said. "But assuming he's not moving at full burn, maybe we can catch up with him before he lands on Hera."

"And do what?" Bear asked from the doorway. "It's not like the ship is equipped with weapons."

"River has the sense that whatever's gonna be happening will happen in Serenity Valley," Marcus replied. "At least the most….damaging part. So, we get him in our sights, we can make sure we land before he does."

"Times like this I think we need a grappling hook on this boat," Murdocke said, stepping onto the bridge. "Just grab that ship right outta the Black and reel him in."

Marcus nodded. "You rig one of those up, and I'll sure as diyu use it."

"Don't have the parts to do it with," Murdocke said apologetically. "Just sayin' for next time…"

"Things go like I plan, there ain't gonna be a next time," Marcus growled.

XXXXXXXXXX

The monster itched to be back with Malcolm Reynolds again, to feel the slide of his blade against Browncoat skin, to hear the infinitely satisfying snap of bones beneath his hammer. But there were matters to be attended to first. He had planned for years with the meticulous care of a bride planning her wedding day exactly what to do when he came upon the so-called hero of Serenity Valley. And Fate, as she always had, had smiled down upon him in, of all unlikely places, an alleyway on Greenleaf.

But Fate was a fickle mistress, and she had given him a small fly in the ointment in the form of the woman with Reynolds. It was a minor annoyance, but one that he felt confident he could turn to his advantage. One more body in his ultimate masterpiece would only add to its final beauty.

He spread out the map of Hera he'd so painstakingly drawn. Every bush, every hill, every crevice in Serenity Valley was as familiar to him as his own skin. He bent over the map and very carefully marked the spot where Malcolm Reynolds and his whore would have their final resting place and he would have his vengeance memorialized for all eternity.

Carefully gathering all the tools he would need, he sat down and laid them at his feet lovingly. Leaning back with a pleasured sigh, he took up his favorite knife and whetstone. It was time to get ready for work.

XXXXXXXXXX

Marcus stared out at the Black, willing a ship to appear there. Twenty hours in, and there was still no sign of the hundan's boat. Adam was becoming more and more agitated, which Marcus took as a good sign that they were closing in on their target. River, unnaturally quiet, paced back and forth behind him, her eyes burning with an eerie light. Surreptitiously watching her, he could well imagine how the small woman could have defeated a room filled with Reavers. At the moment, he thought he might be able to do just as well, given the tension ramping up inside him.

Suddenly, River stopped pacing. "Almost there," she whispered.

Marcus looked back out into the Black to see if he could discern what she saw. "I don't see…" he began.

"That's because you're only looking with your eyes," she said, gripping the back of his chair with whitened knuckles.

"Tell me," he said.

River closed her eyes, swaying as if hit by a strong wind. "So dark," she said. "Twisted…fragments. Too many voices….one body." She wrapped her arms around her sides, shivering and beginning to rock back and forth. "Disjointed…..pleasure from pain…..oh God, oh God." She sank to her knees, muttering a low Mandarin chant.

Having never seen River in such a state, Marcus stared at her for a moment in shock. Regathering his senses, he hit the comm. "Simon. The bridge. Now," he ordered. And sinking down to his knees beside her, he tried to discern what she was trying to say.

XXXXXXXXXX

"Looks like you're not gonna have to worry about flyin' the ship," Mal said grimly.

Elizabeth looked up from her work, puzzled.

"We've landed," Mal replied. The particularly coarse expletive from Elizabeth's mouth made him smile unaccountably. "How far along are you?"

"Both hands free, but the gorram ankle lock is stuck," she muttered. "Didn't help that I activated the medication in the pen by accident."

Mal nodded, having been more than a little frustrated when she'd fallen unconscious for several hours from the mishap. Just another example of plans not goin' smooth, he thought. Nothing to do now but keep going forward until something stopped them, to his way of thinking. "Don't conjure he'll wait all that long to come for us," Mal said. "Faster would be better."

"You think?" Elizabeth replied blandly, trying hard not to let her hands shake with the added stress.

"No pressure," Mal said. "Just….hurry."

As if on cue, they heard the distinct sound of footsteps in the corridor just outside. Gritting her teeth, Elizabeth focused on the stubborn ankle lock and tried again.

XXXXXXXXXX

To be continued


	19. Chapter 19

**Fractured**

**Part XVIII**

Authors: just_slummin and Midnight Obsidian

Disclaimer: Don't own 'em. Just playin' in Joss' sandbox.

Rating: PG

Summary: The Hit or Miss arrives at Hera, and Mal and Elizabeth are on the move.

XXXXXXXXXX

"There's a ship down there all right," Pierre confirmed. "Right….there." He pointed to the blip on the nav console.

"That's practically right under us," Marcus said.

Pierre nodded somberly. "Gonna have to change the angle of descent. No way I can land the Hit or Miss anywhere near it from this angle without frying us."

Marcus' hands clenched into fists. "How long?"

"Half hour," Pierre said. "Less, if I get lucky."

"Do it," Marcus said tightly, watching the blip on the nav console fade into the distance.

XXXXXXXXXX

Mal looked at the doorway intently, his muscles tensing in anticipation of what was about to happen. He could see peripherally that Elizabeth was steadfastly working on the ankle lock. Seconds later, the shackle slid off her leg. With no time to admire the work she'd done, she turned swiftly to the other one, intent only on freeing them both before the monster made it all the way down the corridor.

"Almost there," she muttered quietly. "Just….one…more…" There was a sudden infinitely satisfying click as the lock released. Scrambling quickly to Mal's side, she began to work on his locks.

Mal frowned. "Listen," he said. "You still hear footsteps?"

Elizabeth's hand slowed their motion for a moment. "No," she said, instantly getting back to her task.

"Me neither," Mal said. "Which means either he's gone somewhere else, or…"

"He's waiting right outside the door to kill us as soon as we walk through it," Elizabeth finished.

Mal grimaced. "Yeah," he said blandly. "Ain't life just one gorram adventure after another?"

"If by adventure you mean major inconvenience possibly followed by agonizing death, I would have to agree," she said, sitting back on her heels as she unlocked the last shackle. "Sooo…..now that we're not chained to a wall, what's the next step?"

Mal looked down at his broken leg. "Assumin' he's not standing behind the door, you run like hell."

"And if he is?"

Mal smiled. "Then you fight like hell."

"Good plan," Elizabeth said dryly. "Except that I'm not leaving you here like this."

"Ain't my first choice either," Mal said. "But it's the only way either one of us has a chance. Dong ma?" His eyes blazed with a fierce blue light, willing her to obey.

"Not an option," she said flatly, pulling his unbroken arm around her battered shoulders. "It's both of us or neither."

"You can't expect to get anywhere with me like this," Mal protested, wishing he could bellow the words out in his frustration. He tried to pull away from her feebly.

"You're wasting time we don't have," she snapped, pure adrenaline making her stronger momentarily. "Once we find the way out of the ship, I'll look for a place to hide you until I can get help. Deal?"

Mal did not reply, as she was already half-dragging him toward the door. Gorram woman was just as stubborn as the females on Serenity, he thought in tired surprise.

XXXXXXXXXX

He bent his back to the task of digging the pit. The shovel glinted in the sunlight, a thing of utter beauty to his deranged sensibilities. His blood hummed with the thought of what was to come. This hallowed ground had been steeped in the blood of his father and now, at long last, it would be anointed anew with the blood of the man that had come to represent the spirit of the Independents at its very core.

He closed his eyes for a long moment, the scene of his father carried off this very battlefield replaying for the millionth time in his fractured mind. The voices in his head howled their rage, demanding blood and bone for the travesty of what had been ripped from him with the death of his father. He knew that only bone-shattering pain inflicted by his own hands would assuage their bloodlust. Digging more quickly, he imagined the smooth handle of his knife against the hollow of his palm, the cry of his victim as the blade slipped between joints to separate them one from another, the sensual delight of warm blood flowing across his hands and arms as he worked his particular brand of artistry.

But, a calm voice said out of the midst of the cacophony, he must be certain that everything was prepared with great care. This was not to be done hastily. Every detail must be pure perfection with Malcolm Reynolds, the veritable poster child of all that the monster had learned to hate.

This story, above all others, must be told with exquisite attention to detail, so that any who came upon it would see its meaning, the depth of his devotion to his calling, the pure and unadulterated vision driving his life's work. And in the moment of their deaths, the latest additions to his masterpiece would know the truth that would set, not them, but all the howling demons who inhabited his body free at long last.

He looked up at the sky, glorying in the feel of the same light that had once shone on his father warming his own face. And then in the far distance, he saw a ship, a large Cicada-type vessel, flying low in the atmosphere and obviously positioning itself to land. He frowned. No one was to see his work before it was complete. Hastily arranging all his treasured tools as he would need them, he hurried back toward his little ship. It was time to introduce Reynolds and the woman to their eternal home.

XXXXXXXXXX

Elizabeth's legs felt like rubber, but she moved steadily forward. Mal's weight pressed down oppressively on her shoulders. Unable to support himself well on just one unbroken but badly battered leg, he hopped along as well as he could manage, his lips drawn tightly shut into nothing more than a thin slash across his face.

"There," he whispered. "Up ahead. See that little outcropping?"

Elizabeth nodded, too exhausted to verbalize an answer.

"There's a small crevice there," he said. "Holed up in that crevice for two days during the first war. Only place I can think of close by to hide."

Elizabeth moved forward doggedly until they reached the tiny crevice. Carefully slipping out from under Mal's arm, she cushioned his fall into the crevice as best she could. "Guess I don't have to warn you to stay here," she whispered. Mal pursed his lips, but bit back a retort. Elizabeth peered into the distance. "Should be someone at the welcome center of the monument," she said. "I'll be back as soon as I can, with help."

Mal nodded and tried not to think about how very close he was to blacking out. Giving him one last shaky smile, Elizabeth headed back out toward the small building that housed the groundskeeper who took care of the Serenity Valley Monument and its outlying grounds. Mal, his eyes seeing at least two of her, watched her limp quickly away.

XXXXXXXXXX

Robert hurried through his ship. With the uncanny perception of the truly insane, he realized that it was now merely an empty hull. His prisoners, through some cruel twist of fate, had managed to escape their fetters while he was away. He gnashed his teeth in rage. On the verge of losing himself in the multitude of screaming voices in his head, he heard the calm voice, the one that spoke so reasonably by contrast. 'They can't have gone far', the voice assured him calmly. 'Find them, so that we may finish what we have begun.'

He drew a deep breath, wiping cold sweat from his brow. Of course the Browncoat hundan was close by, he thought. Where else would he be? Maniacal laughter reverberated in the small corridor as he headed back outside.

XXXXXXXXXX

Elizabeth sucked in a hissing breath as yet another stone cut into the tender pads of her bare feet. She briefly considered stopping long enough to wrap the tatters of her blouse around them, but the thought of Mal lying defenseless in the shallow crevice and the very real probability that the madman would notice their absence sooner rather than later propelled her forward.

Squinting in the glare of the mid-afternoon sun, she saw the little house of the groundskeeper up ahead. Her steps quickened with renewed optimism. Climbing onto the inviting porch, she quickly pulled the door open and stepped inside.

XXXXXXXXXX

"I'm sorry I couldn't set us down any closer," Pierre said grimly.

"No matter," Marcus replied, already climbing into the loader. "Might be able to take 'im by surprise this way, assuming he didn't see us landing. Keep the ship ready for takeoff. I don't aim to be out there long."

Pierre nodded and Marcus gunned the engine of the loader, making Jayne grab the side bar to avoid spilling out. Zoe, Jim, and Bear, jammed together into the middle seat, had no such trouble. River leaned forward as if the position itself would propel the loader more quickly to her ai ren. There was nothing but the roar of the engine for long minutes as they approached the coordinates of the small ship in a cloud of dust.

Quickly hopping down from the vehicle, they fanned out around the ship, weapons drawn and ready. In a fever for immediate action, Marcus burst into the open entrance of the ship, his senses heightened and alert to the barest movement or sound aboard. Knowing that Jayne and Bear were in position behind him, he went through the ship room by room, sweeping the area for any clue as to the whereabouts of the ones he sought.

Finally, he came to the room where Mal and Elizabeth had been held. The sight stopped him cold for a long moment and Bear and Jayne stepped inside to see what had affected him so.

Taking in the dangling shackles, the blood-stained floor, the instruments of torture laid out meticulously on a cloth-covered table, Jayne swore a low string of Mandarin. "They ain't here," he said flatly.

"Question is, where are they?" Bear said quietly.

River stepped into the room, swaying slightly with the fragmented snippets of images that bombarded her immediately. Her hands tightened on her blades and she closed her eyes for a moment. "Come," she said abruptly.

"Where to?" Marcus said tightly, though he was already falling in step beside her.

"The bridge," she said. "There's a map."

Not even stopping to wonder how she knew that information, the men followed her immediately.

XXXXXXXXXX

Mal heard steps approaching and realized he must have blacked out for a short time. For one tense moment, he thought that his time was finally up in this same gorram valley where he had cheated Death so many years ago. Then, as if from heaven itself, he felt the reassuring presence of River in his mind. Almost before he could process the thought, her head appeared at the mouth of the crevice and she peered inside.

"Ai ren," she breathed out, her heart stopping for a second as she saw his battered body.

"Looks worse than it is," he said hoarsely. "Least I conjure it does."

Marcus' head appeared next. "Elizabeth?" he asked, his throat almost too tight for speech.

"She went to get help," Mal replied quickly. "The groundskeeper's…"

Marcus was gone before he finished the sentence.

XXXXXXXXXX

"Hello?" Elizabeth called out. "Is there anybody here?" She paused, her ears straining to hear any indication that she was not alone.

The oppressive silence fell heavily upon her shoulders. She walked as quickly as she could through the rooms, looking for at least an operating Cortex link or something, anything, with which she could summon help.

Finally, blessedly, she saw the link in the corner of a small office. Relief bubbling up into her heart, she stepped quickly into the room and headed for the link. She heard a faint noise behind her. Before she could twirl around to see its source, she felt throbbing fire sink deeply down between her shoulder blades. She cried out, falling forward with the momentum of the thrust of Robert's blade. She hit the floor, her arms suddenly incapable of padding her fall as the blade sank into her back to its hilt.

XXXXXXXXXX

To be continued


	20. Chapter 20

**Fractured**

**Part XIX**

Authors: just_slummin and Midnight Obsidian

Disclaimer: Don't own 'em. Just playin' in Joss' sandbox.

Rating: PG

Summary: With Mal in good hands, Marcus continues the search for Elizabeth.

XXXXXXXXXX

Robert twisted the blade once more and then slowly pulled it out of the woman's back and wiped it lovingly across his sleeve. He prodded her side roughly with the toe of his boot. Satisfied by the lack of response, he stepped over her limp form and walked out the door in search of the more valuable of his prizes, Malcolm Reynolds. He could always come back and collect her body later, the calm voice whispered reassuringly in his head.

Stepping out onto the porch, he looked around for a clue as to where Reynolds might be hiding. From a distance, he saw a tall, lean man approaching rapidly. Something in the determined way he moved set off alarms in Robert's head. And then, his world went suddenly dark. He stiffened, trying to maintain his dominance over the other voices howling in his head. Unlike most of the other personalities inhabiting his mind, Robert knew that his dominant hold could be broken at random times. The desperation inherent in that knowledge was one of the things that made him the most deadly of them all. He stood absolutely still for a long moment, battling for dominion. And then, he slowly blinked just once, dropped the blade he found in his hands to the ground, and began to run.

XXXXXXXXXX

Marcus saw the man in the distance and pushed harder to achieve even more speed. He could make out little about the man beyond the fact that he was tall and thin and moved with an unnatural speed. Coming even with the groundskeeper's porch, he slowed momentarily, some half-formed instinct pulling him toward the door. He saw the bloodied knife glinting in the afternoon sun and he let out a strangled cry.

Taking the steps in one leap, he slammed the door open, leaving it hanging crookedly by one hinge. "Elizabeth!" he shouted desperately. "Elizabeth!" Hearing no answer, he raced from room to room, terror at what he might find making his blood run cold.

With adrenaline-heightened senses, he heard the broken door swing from behind him. He whirled quickly and drew his gun in one fluid motion.

"Hey, hold on there, stranger," the groundskeeper said in alarm, holding up his arms in the universal gesture of surrender. "I don't know what you think you're doing, but this here's a federally protected building. And it's my home besides. You can't just be breakin' in here and carryin' on like this."

"Where is she?" Marcus asked, his voice low and deadly.

The groundskeeper blinked in confusion. "Where is who?"

Marcus jammed the barrel of his gun directly between the hapless groundskeeper's eyes.

"Look," the older man said placatingly. "I don't know what you're talking about. I've been gone a coupla day, vacation you know, and I just got back. Came in to see you runnin' about like a madman in my house." As the gun was still pressed firmly to his forehead, he added. "I swear."

Marcus stared at him for a long moment, his need to do physical violence to someone or something warring with his discernment that the man was telling the truth. Dropping his gun back into its holster, he said, "I've got no time to explain. Stay here." Turning on his heels, he entered the last room at the end of the hall. It was the only one he'd not yet searched. The groundskeeper, dazed, forgot his admonition to stay put and trailed behind him in bewilderment.

An unearthly sound came from somewhere deep inside Marcus as he saw Elizabeth lying facedown in an ever-expanding pool of her own blood. Praying to every god he'd ever heard of and some he had not, he ran to her side and turned her over gently. Placing his hand against her throat, he waited for a long moment. He could discern no pulse.

Without another sound, he scooped her limp body into his arms, pushed past the astonished groundskeeper and began to run back toward the loader, his only coherent thought that Simon might be able to perform a miracle if he could just get her to him in time.

XXXXXXXXXX

The young man hid behind a boulder watching the people surrounding his ship. He felt an almost irresistible urge to be back aboard in the safety of his own home. The voices whispered low in his ears, but he paid them no heed. Robert's masterpiece would have to wait for another day, he thought. There was no doubt in his mind that another opportunity would present itself. He had only to wait for it. And, he thought with a smile, Robert would just have to wait for it as well.

The first matter of concern was how to return to his ship with the least amount of complication. He, unlike Robert, did not thrive on complication, but instead preferred the easier course. Had he been dominant for more than a few minutes with Reynolds and the woman, he thought with a little irritation, he would have simply taken his pleasure in the woman's body, slit her throat, and dumped Reynolds out into the vacuum of space. Easy as one, two, three. But, things being as they generally were, Robert insisted on his own brand of fun, and now they would all have to wait for a chance to get back to the ship and sort things out. Sitting back on his heels, he waited and watched.

XXXXXXXXXX

Jayne looked out in the direction Marcus had taken earlier. "I see 'em," he said.

Everyone turned quickly to follow his line of sight. "Looks like he's carryin' her," Zoe said. "Everybody, get into the loader ma shong. Best we pick 'em up and see what's what."

Mal's weakened voice came from the back of the loader, where River was trying to tend to the worst of his wounds until they could retrieve Elizabeth and head back to the Hit or Miss. "Jayne, you stay here, in case the hundan tries to get back onto his ship."

Jayne nodded, please inordinately that Mal was speaking coherently and that he himself was being left in a position where the possibility of doing violence to the man who had captured the Captain was very real. He fingered Vera, hoping that her services would be needed sooner rather than later.

XXXXXXXXXX

"I'm telling you there's something bad going on out there," the groundskeeper said to the man staring back at him from the Cortex screen. "Came home and found a gorram madman busting up my house. Next thing I knew, he had found a woman lying in my office, near about bled to death, best I can tell. He ran off in the direction of the monument. You'd best send somebody to check it out."

"We'll have someone scout the area," the inspector said calmly. "Don't worry about that. You just stay inside and keep your doors locked. I'll call you when we find the guy."

The groundskeeper nodded appreciatively. "Hard to lock a door when it's been torn off the hinges," he said.

"Then I suggest you make use of your carpentry skills and let me get to work," the inspector said, cutting the transmission.

The groundskeeper snorted, but did just that, secure in the knowledge that the whole crazy business was in someone else's hands now.

XXXXXXXXXX

Robert roared back to dominance when he saw Malcolm Reynolds pass by in the back of the loader. But the calmer voice inside his head, while now subordinate, still spoke, advising caution. Assuming Reynolds lived, there would be time later to find him again, time to do all the things that were required to satisfy the bloodlust that coursed through Robert's veins so relentlessly.

Reluctantly, Robert let himself be persuaded to the more cautious way. Slipping silently from behind the boulder, he considered the large man standing guard at his ship. Robert had no weapon, as one of his alter egos had foolishly dropped it at the groundskeeper's office. He toyed with the thought of going back to retrieve it. It was his personal favorite. He thought fondly of the blood that it had shed so faithfully under his skilled hands. He would get it back, he decided. And when he had it in his hands again, the first one to feel its blade would be the man guarding his ship.

XXXXXXXXXXX

Jayne scowled at the lawman, but stood silently.

"Sir," the man repeated, his weapon and the weapons of his men all trained on Jayne. "I asked you a question. Is this your ship?"

"No," Jayne said grudgingly.

"I need you to drop your weapon to the ground slowly and step away from the vessel," the man commanded.

Jayne was not about to put Vera in the dirt. He stood perfectly still, hearing the distinct sound of several gun safeties suddenly being released.

"I said, step away from the vessel," the officer said.

Annoyed beyond measure by the sheer stupidity of the situation, Jayne shook his head. "No," he said firmly.

XXXXXXXXXX

Marcus laid Elizabeth gently into the back of the loader beside Mal. "Go," he said urgently, swinging into the seat beside Zoe.

"Is she…?" Jim asked, looking at the paleness of Elizabeth's skin against the red splotches of blood all over her body.

"Just drive," Marcus replied hoarsely.

XXXXXXXXXX

The monster known as Robert rubbed the handle of his knife lovingly. He smiled, watching from behind the boulder as the ever-helpful authorities forced the large man who'd been guarding his ship into their hover and pulled away. Fate was once again smiling on her favorite son, he thought with maniacal glee.

Waiting only long enough for the hover to disappear beyond the horizon, he climbed back aboard his vessel with a satisfied smile. Powering up his engines, he pulled back the yoke, and the ship rose gracefully in the air, taking him beyond the reach of his enemies and into the welcoming arms of his renewed destiny.

XXXXXXXXXX

Zoe watched in disbelief as the vessel Jayne was supposed to be guarding rose into the air. Marcus, glancing up from watching Elizabeth for any sign of life, saw it too. "Gorram it," he swore, beginning to climb out of the loader as if somehow he could pull the ship from the sky with nothing more than the fury that raged in his heart.

"Marcus!" he heard as if from a distance. "Gorram it, Marcus, get back in the ruttin' loader!" Bear yelled, holding on to his distraught Captain by the sleeve of his shirt. "You can't get him….not now. He's already gone."

Coming back to his senses, Marcus clamored back up onto the side of the loader and sat down heavily. Blood sang in his ears. "Ain't gonna let the hundan live," he muttered. "Hand to God."

Bear released his sleeve carefully. "Can't be thinking on that right now," he said quietly. "Got somethin' as takes precedence back there." He nodded toward Elizabeth. "Dong ma?"

Marcus nodded jerkily, suddenly too exhausted to tell Bear that he'd been unable to even find a pulse for Elizabeth. He pushed the thought ruthlessly aside. Plenty of gorram time to deal with that later, he thought grimly.

XXXXXXXXXX

Simon carefully studied the layout of Elizabeth's infirmary, knowing that if the others were successful, he would undoubtedly have two very badly damaged patients to attend. He did not want to be unprepared for any eventuality.

He heard commotion suddenly and knew that something was going on. He further knew with some degree of certainty that whatever it was would end up in the infirmary very soon. As usual, his assessment was on target. In scant moments, Marcus barreled through the door with Elizabeth in his arms, followed closely by the others, who carried Mal between them as gently as they could.

Seeing that Elizabeth's wounds seemed more pressing at the moment, Simon motioned for Marcus to lie her on the larger table. He checked her pulse and quickly pulled the equipment tray to his side. "Get out of the way," he said, his bedside manner temporarily altered by the seriousness of the situation.

Bear pulled the immobile Marcus quickly aside so that Simon could work. Mal raised his head from the other bed weakly. "Doc, she gonna be…?"

"I don't know," Simon replied tersely. The room fell into horrified silence as he began to work.

XXXXXXXXXX

To be continued


	21. Chapter 21

**Fractured**

**Part XX**

Authors: just_slummin and Midnight Obsidian

Disclaimer: Don't own 'em. Just playin' in Joss' sandbox.

Rating: PG

Summary: Jayne makes it back to the Hit or Miss, and River reveals something Marcus did not know.

XXXXXXXXXX

Jayne banged on the door of the Hit or Miss irritably. It opened to reveal Bear and Zoe standing on the other side. Zoe's hands were on her hips and her face was perfectly blank. Jayne, from long association with her, knew that was not a good sign.

"Mind telling me where you went?" she said blandly. "Seems I recall the Captain telling you to stay with that ship."

"Weren't like I had a gorram choice," Jayne said defensively. "I was standin' there, looking out for the hundan as done the deed, and up come the Feds. Next thing I know, I'm being hauled off for questioning. When the ruttin' geniuses finally figured out I wasn't the guy, they couldn't be bothered to drop me back here, so I had to walk back from the Fed station." He grimaced. "And they made out like they were gonna keep Vera. Took near an hour to straighten all that out."

Zoe raised an eyebrow.

"Well, I weren't gonna leave Vera," Jayne said. "Not with a buncha piss-ant…" His words trailed off for a moment. "So," he said finally. "You found the lady doc and she and Mal are okay, right?"

Bear sighed. "They're both aboard, at least," he answered, worry lacing his tone.

Without another word, Jayne headed toward the infirmary to see what was going on, Vera still slung across his back.

XXXXXXXXXX

Marcus wearily peeled the shirt from his back and sank down onto the edge of his bed. Simon's words repeated in an unrelenting loop in his mind. He stared down at the shirt still in his hand, covered with Elizabeth's blood. At least she was alive, he thought doggedly. She was, after all, breathing on her own now. Simon's efforts had restarted her heart, and the monitors beeped steadily now with what Simon assured him was a good rhythm. But for all that, there was another heart wrenching thing to worry about. Simon, exhausted from hours of surgery, had told Marcus solemnly that there was no way to tell whether her heart had been stopped long enough for her oxygen-deprived brain to begin to die, no way to tell if she would even wake up at all. And if she did, there was the horribly real possibility that she would not be the Elizabeth he had known. Marcus closed his eyes, unable for the moment to face, in this most private place on the Hit or Miss, the possibility that he might very well have lost his lover forever in Serenity Valley.

A soft knock on his door pulled him from his morose thoughts. He gently placed the soiled shirt into his hamper and pulled on another one quickly. "Chin jing," he called out.

River entered gracefully, as if she were practically floating just above the floor. Marcus wondered how she was able to do that, considering the stress that was bound to be weighing her down. She smiled softly, and he wondered if she had just read his random thought. "Mal all right?" he asked tiredly.

"Broken, but not permanently," she replied, pulling up a chair and sitting down daintily. "Simon made me leave while he sets the bones. Thought I would hear some language that his mei mei should not have to hear." She rolled her eyes. "He's such a boob."

Marcus smiled. "Just not wanting to expose you to more stress than you already have to deal with. Probably a big brother thing." He fell silent for a moment. "So, what can I do for you?"

River sighed. "You're planning to track him down, aren't you?"

Marcus shifted uncomfortably. Figuring there was no reason to attempt lying to a Reader, he answered. "Yes, I am. Conjure I'll hire a small scouting vessel, and go, soon's I see everything is taken care of here."

"I'm going with you," River said.

"No, you ain't," Marcus said without hesitation. "Don't wanna be responsible for anybody else. This is a one-man job."

She sat motionless, her huge brown eyes staring unblinkingly into his.

"You can look at me like that 'til you're blue in the face," he said flatly. "I aim to go alone. Dong ma?"

She sighed, reading his determination easily. "You don't know what he is."

"And you do, all of a sudden?" Marcus asked tightly.

River rose and walked to the cortex link in the corner. "Look," she said, her fingers flying across the keys.

Marcus leaned over her shoulder. "What am I looking at?" he asked, as news items from dozens of worlds began to scroll across the screen.

"I believe they're all him," she said softly. "These are reports of unsolved murders across the 'verse." She shuddered. "There are over a hundred of them."

Marcus looked at her in stunned disbelief. "What would make you think that these are all related to this man somehow? I mean, how did you….?"

"I saw….fragments when we were close to him," she explained. "And there is the fact that Adam had been having his nightmares for some time before Mal and Elizabeth were taken."

Marcus sat down beside her and began to read with a growing sense of horror.

River waited in silence for several minutes. "You see the similarities," she said. "The victims were mostly Independent war veterans, the method of killing was the same." She swallowed back the bile that rose in her throat at the images that floated back into her consciousness. "Bodies broken and hacked to pieces, strewn out in a certain pattern."

Marcus thought of Mal's injuries, the broken bones and the knife marks all over his body. "How did all this happen without anyone else connecting these killings?" he asked. "I mean, killing on this scale…it's….."

"Happened on different worlds, in different jurisdictions. And many of the victims were drifters of sorts, people who might not have families to miss them. Making their living in the Black, like us."

"Not like us," Marcus said with a little more force than he'd intended. "We've got people."

River nodded, acknowledging the point. "Which is why Mal and Elizabeth are still alive," she said with certainty.

Marcus pushed back the chair and stood up. "I appreciate you tellin' me this, River, but it doesn't change my mind a mite. I'm goin' alone, and that's an end to it."

"But.."

"No buts," he said firmly. "Especially not now that I know what the hundan is. Think Mal wouldn't shoot me his own self if I let you get close to this?"

"Can't shoot," she said stubbornly. "Broken fingers."

"Yeah, well, broken fingers heal, and I'll wager they'll be long healed before he would forgive me for taking you along if I did. The answer's no. Besides, you've got Adam and Hannah. Can't be depriving them of a mother right now, can we?"

"You don't play fair," River said accusingly.

"That's 'cause I aim to win," Marcus replied.

"I could help you find him more easily," she said in one last attempt.

Marcus shook his head. "Had Bear to get the registry number from his ship when we were there. And Murdocke's figured a way for me to track it across the system with a subroutine in the nav console of most of the newer ships."

"Finding the ship might not lead you to the man," River pointed out. "But a Reader could…"

"Got an idea about how to handle that as well," Marcus said, interrupting her.

She nodded and walked toward the door, acceding to his wishes. "Be careful," she said seriously. "He's much more dangerous than he appears."

"So am I," Marcus answered, opening the door and ushering her out.

XXXXXXXXXX

"Do you feel this?" Simon asked, gently poking Mal's skin with a needle.

"Yes, gorram it," Mal said irritably.

"I mean, does it hurt?"

"Oh, yes," Mal said in his most aggrieved tone.

Simon frowned. "It would be dangerous to give you many more pain meds right away," he said. "But I need to reset these bones as soon as possible. The longer we wait, the more likely there are to be complications."

"Well, we wouldn't want any of those, would we?" Mal said peevishly. "I mean, since everything so far has gone so smooth and all."

"I see that the madman left your sarcasm intact," Simon replied in kind, placing Mal's hand gently down under a small scanner. "You should just be glad that we're in Elizabeth's infirmary and not on Serenity."

"And why is that?" Mal asked, a little offended at the notion.

"This scanner is much more sophisticated than ours," Simon said, taking a moment to admire it. "With this, I will be able to get an image with much sharper resolution than the standard scanners. I'll be able to set each bone in precisely the right way for optimum healing, thereby increasing the likelihood that you will have full range of motion when they are healed."

"Sounds good to me," Mal said, shifting slightly and wincing with the pain it caused.

"But it will only work if you stay completely still," Simon warned, giving him a stern frown as he repositioned the hand in question. "So, am I going to have to sedate you to get this done correctly?"

Mal swallowed nervously. "Just do it already," he said. "'Cause I'm already feeling kinda'…." His words trailed off as the smoother did its job.

Simon allowed himself a small, satisfied smile. "That's what I thought," he said, carefully setting the first bone into place.

XXXXXXXXXX

The boy awoke with a start. He rose slowly and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. He realized that he was still on the ship, the one where bad things happened. Shuddering, he looked around quickly in search of the monster that haunted him.

Seeing no one, he breathed a sigh of relief. He didn't remember the last time he'd eaten, but that did not concern him unduly. He was accustomed to forgetting things, simple things like where he was and why he was there. As most children are, he was adept at adapting to whatever situation he found himself in, and over the course of time, he had begun to accept that there were large portions of time for which he simply could not account in any reasonable way.

His stomach growled, and he rubbed it absently. Scratching his head, he went in search of a kitchen. In minutes, he found it and began to eat. As he ate, he thought of the woman chained in the scary room. She had told him that he must help her if they were ever to talk together again. He liked her very much. She was pretty, and she had a soft, pleasant voice. She was probably good and hungry by now, he thought, chewing on a protein bar. Maybe he would give her one. And then she would talk to him some more.

Thus decided, he grabbed another protein bar and slipped it into his pocket. He walked the length of the corridor quietly for fear of waking the monster. But all was silent around him, and he found himself at the door of the room within moments.

He drew a deep breath, needing a minute to work up his courage to enter. Then, slowly he opened the door and stepped inside. "I've brought you something," he whispered in the semi-darkness.

There was no answer, and he began to get more nervous. "Elizabeth?" he called out a little louder.

"The pofu's dead," he heard from somewhere behind him. "I killed her myself. Took my knife and plunged it into that soft back of hers. Bled like a pig, she did."

"No," Bobbie said, horrified by the thought. "You're lying."

"No, I'm not," the voice said nastily. "Killed her just like I killed your mother. Remember that? Your precious little mommie, lying there on the bed, strung out on drops. She was a bad mother, wasn't she? Always screaming, always hurting you. Until the day I killed her for you. Stabbed her through the heart, easy as pie. Watched her bleed out right there in that big bed of hers. And you were there. Remember that?"

Bobbie put his hands over his ears to stop the dreadful voice. "No," he whispered, tears streaming down his face. "No!"

"They're all like that, just like your whore of a mother," the voice went on as if he hadn't spoken. "Good for nothing pofus, the lot of them."

"Elizabeth was nice," Bobbie said feebly. "She talked nice to me."

"Oh, they all talk nice," the voice said. "But they lie. Just like your mother. Elizabeth tried to get you to let her go, didn't she? You think she would have taken you somewhere safe if I'd let you do it?"

"Yes," Bobbie said. "She would have. I know she would have."

"You little fool," the voice replied harshly. "She was one of them. She was with the Browncoat, wasn't she? Wasn't she?"

Bobbie dropped to the floor, whimpering. "She wasn't like the others," he insisted.

The voice howled with derisive laughter. "Oh, yes, she was," it said. "Bled out just the same color as all the rest." The maniacal laugh reverberated in the small space.

Bobbie felt his world narrowing to a small black dot, and then he disappeared again.

XXXXXXXXXX

To be continued


	22. Chapter 22

**Fractured**

**Part XXI**

Authors: just_slummin and Midnight Obsidian

Disclaimer: Don't own 'em. Just playin' in Joss' sandbox.

Rating: PG

Summary: Mal and Marcus have a talk, and Serenity's crew goes home.

XXXXXXXXXX

Mal stared at the ceiling of the cabin to which he had been taken as soon as Simon had pronounced his condition stable enough that he could be moved. The bed was soft and spacious, a far cry from his accommodations aboard the ship of the madman. Even so, he longed to be on Serenity.

As if in answer to his thoughts, he heard a soft knock at the door. "Chin jing," he called out.

Marcus entered the room with a smile. "Just thought I'd check in and see that you've got everything you need. You comfortable enough?"

"As comfortable as a man with more broken bones than I even knew I had can be," Mal replied blandly. "You been to check on Elizabeth this morning?"

Marcus nodded, the smile fading from his face. "Still no change," he said shortly. "Simon said that it's still a possibility she'll come out of it, but….." His words trailed off, and both men thought about the fact that the longer she remained unconscious, the more chance there was that she would not wake up at all.

Mal sighed. "She's gonna pull through, you know."

"What makes you so sure?" Marcus asked, hating the desperate edge his voice had taken on in recent days.

"She's a helluva lot tougher than she looks," Mal replied, aching in his friend's behalf. "Drug me outta that ship and hid me in the crevice, didn't she?"

Marcus pulled up a chair and sat beside Mal's bed. "Guess she did, at that," he said. He paused for an uncomfortable moment. "Mal, there's somethin' I gotta know." He looked down at the floor, unable to look directly into Mal's eyes as he asked the question. "When I found her there on that floor, I saw the way she looked. Clothes torn off, bruises all over her….on her throat…." He paused, swallowing with difficulty. "On her breasts…and thighs." He breathed deeply and looked up at Mal in anguish. "I need to know if he….." His voice broke.

"No, he didn't," Mal answered quickly. "Not for lack of tryin', if you want to know the truth of it. But the way his personalities were whipsawin' back and forth, he didn't ever….get the deed done, so to speak."

Marcus experienced a second of utter relief and then his brain processed the words Mal had spoken more clearly. "Whaddya mean, 'personalities'?"

"Best Elizabeth could figure, he's got more than one personality. Identity dissociation, she called it." At Marcus' frown, he said, "I know, it seemed a mite strange to me too, but apparently he ain't your garden-variety psycho. One minute he'd be all over Elizabeth, pawin' at her and such, and the next minute, he'd forget all about her and focus in on beatin' the go se outta me. And there was the one time she talked to him as the little boy."

"Little boy?" Marcus repeated numbly.

"Yeah," Mal confirmed. "Best we can figure, that's the one Adam tuned into somehow. Elizabeth figured there might be others as well, though we didn't meet any more than that….least I don't think we did."

"How is such a thing possible?" Marcus asked softly, not even aware he'd spoken aloud.

"Don't know, but I conjure Elizabeth or Simon could explain that better'n me," Mal replied. "She told me that mostly it happens to folk that have some horrific event in their life, something that leaves 'em all…fractured. And best as she could explain it, once that happens, then these other personalities take over. Some sorta defense mechanism gone wrong, you might say."

Marcus nodded, taking the information in thoughtfully. "I see," he said finally. He rose to stand. "Thanks for fillin' me in. Anything else you can think of I might need to know?"

Mal looked at his young friend seriously. "Just that what you're aimin' to do is gonna be dangerous. He ain't in no way normal-like. Dong ma?"

Marcus smiled thinly. "And what is it you think I aim to do?"

Mal rolled his eyes. "I gotta say it out loud?" he asked.

Marcus sighed. "No, guess you don't, at that." He turned to go and stopped at the door. "There is something else, Mal. If something pear-shaped should happen and I don't come back, I want you to sign the Hit or Miss over to Elizabeth."

Mal nodded, knowing it was not the time for a light-hearted comment.

"Oh, and one more thing," Marcus said. "If Elizabeth should wake up while I'm gone, make something up, okay? She isn't….she doesn't set much store by violence, as a general rule. I wouldn't want her to…." He stopped for a moment, marshalling his words carefully. "She doesn't need to be worryin' over that right now, is all."

"You might be surprised at what she could handle," Mal said gently. "And secrets between a man and his woman always find their way out into the light of day."

"I'll worry about that when the time comes," Marcus replied. "'Til then, I'm askin' you to leave it be."

Mal nodded in acquiescence. "Your call, of course," he said slowly. "And Marcus, take my coat with you. It's apt to get mighty cold where you're goin'."

Marcus looked at Mal for a long moment. Reaching down to retrieve Mal's duster from the chair by the bed, he said, "Thanks."

"And bring it back in one piece," Mal called out as Marcus walked out the door.

XXXXXXXXXX

Simon examined Pierre's face carefully. "Everything looks good," he said slowly. "Though I would imagine that we'll have to redo a small portion along your jawline with the next graft."

Pierre nodded. "Got any idea when that might be?" he asked, glancing over at Elizabeth's bed surreptitiously.

"It's my professional opinion that the best course of action available to you is to seek the aid of a surgical team on Greenleaf when we land," Simon replied honestly. "There are several well-qualified surgeons there, as I recall."

"Rather wait for my own doctor, if it's all the same," Pierre said.

"That's the trouble," Simon replied unhappily. "In your case, it's not all the same. As it is, some of the grafted material will have to be replaced to avoid additional scarring. And the longer you wait, the more likely that scenario becomes." He sighed. "And the truth of the matter is that I have no idea when, or even if, Elizabeth will wake up. And even if she does, I don't know if she'll be able to perform surgery again." Seeing Pierre's stricken expression, he added, "There are just too many variables. I'm sorry."

Pierre slid off the exam table and walked over to Elizabeth's bed. He took her limp hand in his own. "You hear that, doc?" he said softly. "It's time for you to wake up and see to your patient. I don't have all the time in the 'verse to wait on you, you know."

His only answer was the steady beep of the monitor attached to her chest.

XXXXXXXXXX

Kaylee bent her arm experimentally. Pleased when there was no pain, she swung it widely back and forth. Simon had unwrapped it for her earlier, examining the pink new skin that covered the formerly burned areas and declaring her scar-free. Humming, she made her way to the engine room of the Hit or Miss.

Murdocke looked up from under the engine with a smile. "How goes it this morning?"

"Shiny," Kaylee said happily. "Got my arm back." She held it out for his inspection.

He smiled widely. "Two-handed again, huh? Well, I guess that means there'll be no stopping you when you get back to Serenity."

She grinned widely. "'Bout that, I was hopin' I might be able to borrow a few little do-dads from your supply. Then, by the time we land on Greenleaf, I could have some of the things we've been designin' ready to install. And you can raid my supplies for the replacement parts when we get there."

Murdocke laughed aloud, sharing Kaylee's exuberance. "It's a deal."

XXXXXXXXXX

Later that night, after the Hit or Miss had landed on Greenleaf and Serenity's crew had finally made it back to their own home, River pulled the cover up to Adam's chin and tucked him in snugly. "Are you glad to be home in your own bed, baby mine?" she asked softly.

"Umm hmm," Adam said sleepily.

River kissed his forehead softly and stood to leave. Adam reached out for her hand. "Stay with me, Mama?" he asked. "Don't want to be alone."

"Why, little one?" she asked, sitting back down on the bed.

Adam looked at her with wide, blue eyes. "He's still out there, isn't he, Mama? The little boy who sees all the bad things?"

"Yes, he is," River replied softly. "But he's not here. He's somewhere else."

"Will I still dream of him, Mama?"

"I hope not," River replied, knowing that she had to be honest with the Reader child. She reached out and smoothed the cowlick that poked out at the crown of his head. "But I'll stay with you anyway. Now close your eyes and go to sleep."

"Sing me a song, Mama," he murmured sleepily.

River sat in the rocking chair beside him and sang a lullaby, soothing her boy and herself with the clear, soft notes of the melody.

XXXXXXXXXX

The monster wandered the streets of Persephone, the voices in his head whispering for attention. He knew that soon the whispers would turn into howls if he ignored them for long. So, he began to watch the people passing by on the street, looking for a suitable candidate for his next piece of artwork.

Thinking that the second war for Independence had blurred the lines of Alliance and Browncoat in a most annoying way, he could not tell immediately by looking at any of the swarms of people at the docks what their political leanings might be. He needed a drink, he thought irritably. Perhaps he could drink the voices into submission.

Spying a tavern a few blocks down from the docks, he walked inside and took a table in the darkest corner he could find. A pretty barmaid came to his table, making one of his alter egos pull his lips into a charming smile. Pleased, the barmaid hastened to get his drink and smiled prettily as she placed it on the table in front of him.

Once the woman was gone, however, Robert returned and his lips thinned out into a straight line as he sipped his drink. He watched the other patrons of the bar, despising their hearty laughs and back-slapping greetings to their fellows. Humans were, in general, a waste of space, he thought disgustedly. Blithely going about their business with no understanding of the things that really mattered in the 'verse, the things with which he was intensely occupied.

The barmaid, in typical fashion, had forgotten about him the moment she'd received her tip and now his glass was empty. He thought to raise his glass for a refill, but she was on the other side of the room, flirting with some other man who might have a little more coin in his pocket.

Robert's dark eyes flicked to the bar, hoping to catch the attention of the bartender, who was also the owner of the establishment. He wouldn't be happy with the inattention of the barmaid to a paying customer, Robert thought with a smile of satisfaction. Perhaps the little pofu would lose her job.

Then, he saw him. There at the bar, sitting all alone was a man in a long brown coat. Robert's mind immediately clicked back to his mission and the voices in his head began to murmur in anticipation. He watched the man for a time, taking in the details of his appearance with interest. The man drank slowly, appearing to look neither to the left or right as he did so. A sip here, a sip there, and then simply stillness for several minutes before sipping again. He seemed largely unaware of his surroundings, and Robert smiled wolfishly, thinking that was just the way he liked things to be.

Timing his approach carefully, he waited until the man was nursing his last sip from the glass before slipping up to the barstool beside him. "Mind if I join you?" he asked pleasantly, looking into the man's eyes.

"Please do," Marcus said, smiling easily.

XXXXXXXXXX

To be continued


	23. Chapter 23

**Fractured**

**Part XXII**

Authors: just_slummin and Midnight Obsidian

Disclaimer: Don't own 'em. Just playin' in Joss' sandbox.

Rating: R

Summary: Conclusion. Marcus takes care of business and violence, as one might expect, ensues.

XXXXXXXXXX

While outwardly calm, Marcus was internally elated to have found the hundan so quickly. He'd barely installed Murdocke's subroutine into the nav console of his hired ship when he got a hit indicating the vessel of the madman had landed and been registered as being on the Eavesdowne docks of Persephone. Going to full burn immediately, he had made it there in record time. While he loved the Hit or Miss, the sleek little ship he'd hired had real speed in its favor. Thinking that was most probably why the madman's little ship had made it to Hera before the Hit or Miss could intercept it, Marcus considered the possibility of purchasing a small ship like it for himself. There was no way to tell when a quick getaway would be just the thing, he thought with a slight smile.

He'd landed on the docks and located the ship easily. Blending into the crowds on the busy docks, he had watched the man disembark and wander down the streets for a long time. Marcus knew that he was no doubt looking for his next victim, and the thought made his hands itch to wrap around the hundan's neck. But he waited patiently for the right opportunity, mindful that this man had captured Mal in an alleyway on Greenleaf without too much trouble. That, in Marcus' opinion, made him dangerous enough not to simply approach in the street.

But then, he'd seen his opportunity unfold before him. The hundan had walked into a bar and sat down to drink. Figuring that the easiest way to catch a rat was to lay out cheese, Marcus hurried back to his ship and donned Mal's brown coat. Slipping into the tavern while the madman was flirting with a pretty little barmaid, Marcus made his way quickly to the bar and ordered a drink. And then, he had settled down to wait.

He didn't have to wait long. Within the hour, the young man had approached him and asked to sit down. And now Marcus was talking to him, seemingly relaxed with a little too much drink.

Robert smiled at him pleasantly. "I couldn't help noticing your coat. It looks like it's seen its share of action."

Marcus ran his hand down the side of Mal's coat. "You could say that," he replied just as pleasantly. He took a sip of his drink, purposely spilling a bit as if slightly inebriated.

"You seem very young to have been in the war," Robert pressed.

Marcus smiled. "I get that a lot. Must be good genes."

"So, you fought in the first war?" Robert asked.

"Tail end of it," Marcus lied. "Little place by the name of Serenity Valley. You've heard of it?"

"Heard of it?" Robert said, feigning excitement. "Who hasn't? Most dramatic battle of the war, or so I gather from my studies."

"Oh, are you a historian, then?" Marcus asked, leaning forward engagingly.

"Of sorts," Robert answered. "I'm not actually being paid for my work, but I have quite a collection of first war memorabilia. It's a sort of hobby of mine. You know, weapons and artifacts, charts of the battles fought, interviews with veterans, captures." He paused, looking innocently into Marcus' eyes. "Say, I just had an idea. Since you were there, perhaps you'd like to see the collection. Maybe look over some of the captures and see if you recognize anybody, or look at the recreations of the battle lines and see if they need to be adjusted, according to what you remember."

Marcus made a show of pondering the offer. "Oh, I don't know," he said finally. "I'm only here for a day or so, and I have some pressing business to take care of."

"Oh, it would take no time at all," Robert said charmingly. "My collection is not far from here. My ship's right at the docks. Only take a few minutes to get there."

"Well, if you insist," Marcus said. "I suppose I could take a look."

Robert smiled. "Wonderful," he said calmly. "How about I buy another bottle and we take it with us?"

"Sounds like a plan," Marcus replied.

XXXXXXXXXXX

Simon looked intently at the monitors over Elizabeth's bed. Her heartbeat, which had been steady for several days, seemed a bit irregular to him. He hastily checked the readouts and frowned. Not trusting entirely in the machines, he put his finger to her wrist, counting her pulse in the time-honored tradition.

Her eyelids fluttered open slowly. Simon stopped counting and leaned down into her field of vision. "Elizabeth?" he said softly. "Can you hear me?"

Elizabeth looked at him in confusion. She moved her mouth to speak, but no words came out.

"It's all right," Simon said soothingly. "You're back on the Hit or Miss. There was an…incident, but you're safe now." He took a penlight and shined it in her eyes, making her wince.

Pleased with the reaction, he continued, "Do you understand me, Elizabeth?"

She looked at him blankly.

He slipped his hand in hers. "Squeeze my hand if you understand me," he coaxed.

Her hand remained perfectly still and her eyes fluttered closed once again. Despite his attempts to rouse her again, Simon was unable to get another response.

XXXXXXXXXX

Marcus walked steadily beside the murderer, making sure to keep enough distance between them that nothing untoward would happen. His hands itched for the gun hidden under Mal's coat, but he schooled himself to patience.

"Here we are," the monster said cheerfully, opening the hatch of his ship and motioning Marcus to step inside.

"So we are," Marcus growled, shoving the man into the ship and slamming the hatch shut behind them with much more force than was absolutely necessary.

XXXXXXXXXX

River curled herself gently down onto the bed beside Mal, needing the familiar warmth of his body to dissipate the chill she felt.

"You all right, bao bei?" Mal murmured into her hair, wishing he could wrap his arms around her.

"Worried," she replied quietly.

"About?"

"Marcus," she said softly. "And Adam."

"What? Not me?" Mal said lightly, trying to get her to smile.

River complied, a small smile curving her lips. "Not you. Too broken to move anywhere else, and I can keep you safe here."

"Ah," Mal said. "I see." His eyes twinkled in the low light of the room. "And Adam. Ain't he safe here?"

River sighed. "Not safe until the man who did this is dead," she said sadly. "And the little boy with him."

Mal frowned, somehow having not thought of the implications of killing the hundan and the effects of it on his son. "You think Adam is still….tuned in to the little boy."

"Don't know," River replied. "His sleep has been restless, but so far, the nightmares have not returned."

"But you think that he is still connected with the boy somehow," Mal said, understanding dawning. "And if Marcus kills the hundan, you're afraid that Adam might inadvertently see it."

River nodded miserably.

Mal drew a long, slow breath. "Don't see any way around it, bao bei. Man needs to die, and Marcus is determined to do it. Can't do a thing to stop him, and I personally wouldn't want to if I could. Question is, what can we do for Adam in the fallout?"

River shook her head, no answer to the dilemma occurring to her.

XXXXXXXXXX

Shocked by the sudden turn of events, Robert quickly rolled back up onto his feet and out of the range of Marcus' hands. The voices, relatively quiet until now, began to howl in anger in his head. Letting out a howl of his own, he rushed toward Marcus, drawing the knife from its scabbard in the process.

Marcus, seeing him through the red haze of his own fury, met him halfway. The two men grappled for the knife, rolling over and over across the small entryway of the ship, each seeking the dominant position.

Finally straddling the howling madman, Marcus slammed the man's hand against the bulkhead repeatedly until he heard the satisfying snap of the man's wrist. Howling with pain, Robert bucked against him, throwing him off balance. Unable to use his right hand, he used his left to grab Marcus by the throat and squeeze tightly.

Marcus struggled beneath him, seeing red as his lungs began to scream for oxygen. His mind flashed to the image of Elizabeth's throat, abused in just this way, and his heart filled with a murderous rage. Throwing the monster off of himself with a massive effort, he scrambled quickly onto his feet and jumped away from the monster's wild stab of the knife.

Robert, with an unearthly growl, rushed forward, his good arm driving his blade into the meaty part of Marcus' shoulder. Marcus roared in rage and knocked the man backward. Robert's head hit the edge of doorway and his motions slowed for one crucial moment.

He shook his head, trying to regain his equilibrium. The voices shouted in his head, demanding the blood of the Browncoat. He staggered to his feet and looked up. His forehead connected solidly with the barrel of Marcus' gun. He blinked slowly, unable to face what was about to happen.

Marcus saw the slow blink. Though he did not know what the blink signified, he did not hesitate. His finger bent, and he pulled the trigger.

The monster, caught in the second between personalities, fell soundlessly backward. Unaware that he was standing over an empty shell, Marcus pulled the trigger once more, the sound reverberating loudly in the small entryway.

XXXXXXXXXX

"It's done," Marcus said flatly, looking at Mal through the Cortex screen. "And when the ship's been there a little while, the authorities'll be looking in on it, I'm sure. Made certain to leave the door open for them, matter of fact."

Mal nodded. "You left everything like it was, right? Plenty of evidence to persuade them that his death ain't worth too vigorous an investigation, I assume."

Marcus nodded somberly. "You should have seen it, Mal. The things he had saved from his victims. His…trophies, I guess. There should be enough there to tie him to multiple murders all across the system. I would imagine they won't mourn him overmuch."

"You all right?" Mal asked quietly.

Marcus took a deep breath. "Won't be all right again until Elizabeth's awake," he admitted. "I'm heading home now."

XXXXXXXXXX

Elizabeth moaned softly, her eyelids fluttering open. She squinted up at the bright light on the infirmary ceiling. Recognizing the ceiling as her own, she licked dry lips and tried to talk.

"Marcus," she rasped, her throat dry from days of unconsciousness.

There was no answer, and she moved her head dizzily to look around her. She saw Marcus' head a few inches from her hand. He was asleep. She focused on his face, the dark shadows under his eyes, the stubble on his cheek and chin. She wondered how long she had lain like this for him to look this way.

She slowly moved her hand to stroke his cheek. "Ai ren," she breathed out.

Marcus raised his head, instinctively knowing her touch. He blinked rapidly, wondering if he was hallucinating. "Elizabeth?" he said, covering her small hand with his.

"How long?" she asked.

"Too long," he said, jumping up to call Simon. Rushing back to her side, he leaned down and kissed her. "Too damn long," he murmured against her lips, his heart finally beginning to beat with a normal rhythm again.

XXXXXXXXXX

River slid into bed beside Mal. "Adam all right?" he asked, shifting slightly to accommodate her position.

River yawned. "Fell asleep right away. Third night this week with no bad dreams." Mal felt her lips curve into a smile against his chest. "Dreaming of a puppy," she said.

Mal made a show of groaning, though actually the idea that his son was dreaming of something pleasant made him mightily happy. "Ain't gonna be a puppy on this boat," he said.

"Not even if it helps Adam get over the trauma of what's happened?" River asked, batting her eyes at him innocently.

"Now, that ain't in no way fair," Mal grumbled. "Using wiles and such."

River laughed, the sound free and altogether music to Mal's ears.

"All right," she conceded. "No puppies….at least until you're up and about."

"And for about twenty years beyond that," Mal said. About to add something else, he was stopped by River's soft kiss.

And in his room, Adam curled contentedly around his pillow and blessedly dreamed once again the innocent dreams of the very young.

XXXXXXXXXX

Author's Notes: just_slummin: So, here we are, once again at the end of another adventure. Many thanks to Midnight Obsidian. You, kind sir, are, as always, a pleasure to work with and a source of constant joy to me. And to those kind souls who have read this story to its end, thank you as well. Your thoughts and feedback make the journey all the more pleasurable. Happy reading and writing to you all!

Midnight Obsidian: I bet you folks thought that we weren't going to be writing any more.,didn't ya? Well, your days of underestimating us have definitely come to a middle if you think that true. I have been blessed…truly blessed with finding a partner in crime who is able to bring my thoughts and ideas into such loving, breathing reality as just_slummin. I'm humbled and honored to have you as a co-author, although I think the lion's share of the credit should honestly go to you. And to our readers, we honestly would not have gotten as far without you. All of your reviews breathe new life into our endeavors. And just so you know, yes, we might have one more ace up our sleeve. You didn't really think we would leave you out of the wedding of the year, did you? Well, shame on you...*grin*


End file.
